THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


L  O  V  E'S     PROGRESS. 


BY  THB  AUTHOR  OP 


'THE     RECOLLECTIONS     OF     A     NEW-ENGLAND     HOUSE- 
KEEPER,"   "THE    SOUTHERN    MATRON,"    ETC. 


"  I  know  not 

How  I  shall  draw  her  picture;  the  young  heart 
Has  such  restlessness  of  changf,  and  each 
Or  its  wild  moods  so  lovely  ! 

Light  to  thy  path,  young  creature!" 

N.  P.  WILLIS. 


NE  W-YORK: 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  82  CLIFF-STREET. 

1  8  4  O'." 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1840,  by 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  Southern  District  of  New -York. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 
The  Baptism .  Page  9 

CHAPTER  II. 

A  tranquil  Morning. — Ruth  Raymond  a  Schoolgirl.— Ruth's  Confes- 
sion.— Skipping-rope.— Ruth's  Present.— Childhood  among  Flow- 
ers.— Ruth's  Love  appears  in  a  Name. — Effects  of  Ridicule. — 
Willie  White's  Gallantry.— His  Philosophy.— Ruth's  first  Dream 
dissolved  . 12 

CHAPTER  III. 

The  Naturalist. — Ruth's  Prejudice.— The  Cure.— Her  Sense  of  Jus- 
tice disturbed.— The  Butterfly  Race.— Ruth's  Danger.— Change  of 
Feeling.— Doubts 17 

CHAPTER  IV. 

Dancing.— Monsieur  Lagrande.— Right  Appreciation  of  Motives. — 
Ruth's  Dancing. — Her  second  Preference.— An  awkward  Predica- 
ment.—A  Change  . 23 

CHAPTER  V. 

Ruth's  Singing. — A  Mother's  Mistake  .—A  Question  about  Birds. — 
Ruth  falls  into  Extremes.— A  Glimpse  at  the  Future.— Angel 
Choirs  ...  . 27 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Young  Things.-Ruth  too  old  for  Dolls.— The  Doll  Family.— A  Let- 
ter.— Ruth's  Favourite. — A  solemn  Conclusion  .  .  .30 

CHAPTER  VII.  ( 

The  Sleep  of  Childhood.— Its  Terrors.— A  Story  from  Dr.  Gesner.— 
Ruth's  Distress.— Its  Cure .36 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Ruth  not  a  Genius.— The  promised  Prize  at  School. — Dangers  of  the 
System.— Effect  on  Ruth.— Ruth's  Triumph.— The  Exhibition. — 
Abby  Mansfield.— Ruth's  Mortification  and  Self-Conquest.— The 
Prize  awarded ""  .  '  .  .  •  Page  41 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Friendship's  first  Grief.— The  new  Friend.— Patronage  and  Love. — 
First  reading  of  Shakspeare.— The  Kitten  Perdita's  Danger.— Its 
Rescue 45 

CHAPTER  X. 

Ruth's  Bedroom. — Her  Library.— Love  Tokens.— Music.— Roman- 
ces.—Ruth  writes  Poetry 52 

CHAPTER  XI. 

The  Age  of  Presumption. — Despondency. — Religious  Love       .    57 

CHAPTER  XII. 

Ruth  Sixteen.— Her  Apartment.— Seals. — Ruth  Romantic.— Her 
Mortification.— Development  of  Mind. — Invitation  to  a  Ball  .  60 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

A  Funeral  Bell.— The  Village  Burial— Ruth  and  a  Stranger    .    64 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Ruth's  Sabbath  and  Church  .    *.  .68 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Dresses  of  Heroines  in  Novels.— Heroines  of  Poetry.— Ruth  and  her 
Mantuamaker.— Progress  of  Mind.— Ruth  at  the  Ball.— New  Ac- 
quaintance.—An  Accident  .  .  .  . »  .  .  .74 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

The  Morning  Slumberer.— The  Cape  Ann  Housemaid.— The  Morn- 
ing-call.—Sunday-school  Project.— The  Farmer  and  his  Wife.— 
The  Intemperate. — The  Poor  and  Suffering  .  .  .  .84 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

Ruth's  Reflections  at  Home.— More  Experiences  of  Human  Nature. 
— The  Sunday-school  Opens.— Ruth  Compensated  .  .  94 


CONTENTS.  Vli 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

The   Sleigh-ride.— An  Overturn.— Excitement.— William  a  Rich 
Man.— An  Offer  of  Marriage Page  100 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
Ruth's  Grotto.— A  Sister's  Love.— New  Sensations  .       .       .104 

CHAPTER  XX. 

Delicate  Positions.  —  Ruth's  Character  unfolds.  —  Glimpses  into 
Hearts 108 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

Ruth's  Singing.— A  Letter.— The  case  of  Leeds  and  Whittesby.— 
Ruth  Weeps.— A  Denouement  expected         .        .       .        .113 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

The  Interview.— A  Thunder-storm.— Ruth  a  Creature  to  be  Loved 

118 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
A  Cloud  on  Ruth's  Happiness.— A  Promise.— Death  .        .        .  123 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
Ruth  and  her  Father.— The  Burial 129 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
The  Raymond  Fe"te 134 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Clarendon  Unhappy.— Ruth  and  her  Pastor.— A  Renewal  of  Vows 

141 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
The  Night  succeeding  the  Ball   .        .        .      \       ."- '  .       .147 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
The  Departure 152 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Clarendon's  Visit  to  the  Village.— A  Letter.— An  Interview       .  158 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
Trenton  Falls     .  ,'£.      ,-'    .       .       .165 


LOVE'S     PROGRESS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   BAPTISM. 

ONE  bleak  wintry  morning,  the  inhabitants  of  a  vil- 
lage-on.  the  banks  of  the  Hudson  were  gathering  at 
their  church,  which  stood  on  the  sloping  side  of  a  hill. 
The  mountain  summits  around  were  crowned  with 
snow,  icicles  hung  glittering  from  the  trees,  and  the 
river  lay  bound  in  fetters  ;  but  this  did  not  prevent 
the  "  assembling  themselves  together"  of  the  people. 
Sleigh-bells  jingled  merrily  up  the  slippery  ascent,  boys 
were  seen  stamping  the  recent  snow  from  their  feet  as 
they  entered  the  porch,  while  the  careful  students  of 
comfort  deposited  footstoves  in  their  pews,  with  the 
quick  salutation  of  a  wintry  day  to  their  neighbours,  as 
they  pulled  to  the  doors  with  an  extra  effort  at  close- 
ness. 

The  venerable  preacher,  who,  careless  of  the  frost 
of  the  season,  entered  with  the  rest,  was  one  of  the 
last  of  the  good  old  race,  now  gathered  to  their  reward, 
who  had  wrestled  body  and  soul  for  his  country's  free- 
dom. His  first  prayer  was  concluded,  and,  descending 
from  the  pulpit,  his  gray  locks  falling  gently  forward, 
with  a  tremulous  voice  he  said, 

"  Let  the  child  be  presented  for  baptism." 

There  was  silence  in  the  audience,  except  where  the 


10  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

younger  members,  climbing  eagerly  on  their  seats  on 
tiptoe,  broke  the  hush  with  their  unsteady  movements, 
and  in  the  pew  of  the  candidate  for  baptism.  The 
warm  garments  that  maternal  care  had  wrapped  around 
the  sleeping  babe  were  laid  aside  ;  and  the  mother,  ta- 
king the  child  in  her  arms,  whose  long  white  robe  almost 
swept  the  floor,  followed  with  a  light  tread  the  more 
manly  footsteps  of  her  husband  through  the  aisle,  and 
stood  with  him  before  the  pastor.  Removing  his  spec- 
tacles,  and  passing  his  handkerchief  over  his  still  serene 
forehead,  he  bent  forward  and  thus  addressed  them : 

"  It  is  fitting  that  we  should  dedicate  to  God  the  gifts 
which  we  receive  from  him.  It  is  proper  that  we  should 
invoke  the  blessing  of  heaven  on  the  little  beings  who 
are  just  commencing  the  uncertain  career  of  life.  It 
is  right  that  we  should  obey  an  express  command  of 
our  Master  a»d  Saviour  Jesus  Christ.  Let  us  not  per- 
form this  solemn  rite  with  rashness  or  indifference. 
Let  us  be  reminded  of  our  own  baptismal  vows  and 
Christian  obligations.  Let  us  give  this  child  to  God 
with  a  fixed  determination  to  abide  by  his  gracious  will 
respecting  it,  and  with  earnest  and  hearty  prayers  for 
its  usefulness  and  happiness.  Frail  and  feeble,  yet 
precious  little  being !  I  welcome  thee  into  the  world, 
and  into  the  external,  visible  church  of  Christ.  I  ask 
/  of  God  to  bless  thee.  I  ask  of  thy  parents  to  watch 
over  thy  dawning  character,  to  cherish  every  good  and 
to  crush  every  bad  tendency  which  thy  unfolding  heart 
may  exhibit.  I  ask  them  to  train  thee  up  for  virtue, 
for  happiness,  and  religion.  Long  mayst  thou  live  a 
blessing  to  society  and  to  the  church.  Mayst  thou  ex- 
tract every  pang  from  thy  parents'  bosoms,  but  never 
mayst  thou  plant  one  there ;  and  when  at  length  thou 


LOVE'S   PROGRESS.  11 

art  called  away  from  this  checkered  state,  mayst  thou 
be  received  into  the  bosom  of  thy  Father  and  thy  God." 

The  babe  still  slept,  its  mottled  hands  folded  on  a 
breast  more  tranquil  than  a  waveless  sea.  Softly  the 
mother  laid  it  in  its  father's  arms,  gently  the  minister 
touched  its  soft  forehead  with  the  emblematic  element, 
and  pronounced  in  a  clear  voice  the  name  of  Ruth. 

A  tender  and  sweet  solemnity  dwelt  on  every  parent's 
heart  as  the  young  mother,  after  the  close  of  the  cer- 
emony, retraced  her  steps  through  the  aisle,  while  the 
children  of  the  church  softly  struggled  to  gain  a  glance 
of  the  little  being  who  was  now  dedicated  to  God — 
was  one  of  them. 

There  were  four  Ruths  in  the  family  of  Mr.  Ray- 
mond,  the  father  of  the  babe  ;  one  a  great  grandmother, 
hanging  in  the  hall,  faded  and  soiled,  with  a  dreary- 
looking  gash  on  the  nose  from  the  rudeness  of  soldiery 
in  the  revolutionary  war  ;  near  her  was  her  daughter, 
with  a  starched  white  kerchief  lying  in  folds  over  a  rich 
damask  dress,  and  the  hair  drawn  tightly  back  from  a 
fine  open  forehead ;  then  there  was  the  picture  of  the 
present  Mrs.  Raymond  in  the  parlour,  a  delicate-looking 
girl  smelling  a  rosebud ;  and  lastly  Ruth,  the  babe,  a 
living  picture,  fresh  from  the  masterly  hand  of  creation, 
the  heroine  of  my  tale. 

There  is  something  almost  melancholy  in  a  prospect- 
ive glance  at  the  life  of  an  infant.  What  an  ocean  is 
to  heave  from  that  little  rill  which  is  now  gliding  mer- 
rily among  the  green  turf  of  existence  ! 


12  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  tranquil  Morning— Ruth  Raymond  a  Schoolgirl.— Ruth's  Confes- 
sion.—Skipping-rope.— Ruth's  Present.— Childhood  among  Flow- 
ers.— Ruth's  Love  appears  in  a  Name. — Effects  of  Ridicule.-- 
Willie  White's  Gallantry.- His  Philosophy.— Ruth's  first  Dream 
dissolved. 

VERY  delicious  is  the  hush  of  a  house  after  the  de- 
parture of  active  children  to  their  morning-school. 
The  darkened  apartments,  and  the  relaxed  steps  of 
hitherto  bustling  servants  as  they  deposite  brooms  and 
brushes  in  retired  closets  for  the  ensuing  twenty-four 
hours,  announce  the  housewife's  and  mother's  holyday. 
With  her  children's  parting  kiss  fresh  upon  her  lips, 
and  the  echo  of  their  last  laugh  lingering  on  her  ear, 
she  turns  to  her  needle,  while  the  thousand  memories 
and  hopes  that  make  her  being  spring  up  in  that  mind- 
leisure  ;  now  her  voice  breaks  out  into  song,  and  now 
a  prayer  nestles  at  her  heart,  soothing  the  thrilling 
fear  that  w ill  rise  in  the  midst  of  a  parent's  most  airy 
visions. 

The  morning  hours  glided  thus  away  as  Mrs.  Ray- 
mond  sat  in  her  shaded  parlour.  It  was  fresh  and 
laughing  June ;  the  earth  was  green  as  a  Dryad's  bower ; 
and  white  clouds  rolled  in  fantastic  beauty  over  the 
mountains,  the  breath  of  roses  was  borne  on  the  breeze, 
and  a  few  songsters  hovered  about  the  elms,  whose 
branches  drooped  in  graceful  arches  over  the  portico. 

The  clock  struck  twelve,  and  soon  the  quick  foot- 
steps of  Ruth  Raymond  were  heard.  Her  cape-bonnet 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  13 

was  tossed  aside,  with  spelling-book  and  grammar, 
that "  Slough  of  Despond"  to  little  people,  and  her  pret- 
ty  lips  were  pressed  on  her  mother's. 

"  Who  was  that  little  boy  I  saw  across  the  street  as 
you  came  in,  Ruth  ?"  said  her  mother. 

Ruth  stopped  skipping  a  rope  she  had  seized  on  en- 
tering, and  said,  "  Willie  White,  mamma ;  he  comes 
home  my  way.  I'll  tell  you  something  if  you  will  not 
tell  anybody." 

The  promise  was  given,  and  Ruth  whispered  in  her 
mother's  ear. 

"  I  cannot  hear  a  syllable,  child,"  said  her  mother ; 
"  speak  louder." 

"  But  I  am  afraid  you  will  tell,  mamma,"  said  Ruth, 
with  a  very  conscious  look,  smoothing  down  her  apron. 

"  Certainly  I  will  not,"  said  Mrs.  Raymond  ;  "  you 
may  trust  your  own  mother." 

Ruth  looked  round  to  ascertain  if  they  were  quite 
alone,  and  pressed  her  mouth  so  close  to  her  mother's 
ear  that  the  words  were  lost  again. 

Ruth  made  another  effort.  "  Mind,  mamma,  you 
are  not  to  tell  anybody.  Willie  White  is  my  sweet- 
heart." 

"  Who  is  Willie  White  ?"  said  her  mother,  smiling. 

"  I  do  not  know,  mamma,"  answered  Ruth ;  "  but  he 
has  pretty  curling  hair,  and  a  new  hat,  and  comes  my 
way  from  his  school." 

"  How  often  have  you  seen  Willie  White  ?"  said 
Mrs.  Raymond. 

"  A  good  many  times,  mamma,"  answered  Ruth,  be- 
ginning  to  skip  her  rope. 

"  You  must  not  speak  to  strange  boys,"  said  Mrs. 
Raymond  ;  "  it  is  not  proper." 
B 


14  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

"  I  never  speak  to  Willie  White,  mamma,"  said  Ruth, 
with  a  pretty  air  of  dignity.  "  He  goes  his  side  of  the 
street,  and  I  come  mine.  He  said,  my  name  is  Willie 
White,  and  I  said  my  name  is  Ruth  Raymond.  Just 
think,  mamma,  I  have  kept  up  the  rope  twenty  times !" 

Mrs.  Raymond  gazed  admiringly  on  the  child.  Her 
round  white  arms  thrown  in  unconsciously  graceful  at- 
titudes, her  small  feet  glancing  here  and  there,  her  hair 
springing  up  and  down,  all  betrayed  the  mere  beauty 
of  childhood ;  but  as  her  mother  caught  a  ray  from  her 
eyes,  their  mysterious  beauty  told  of  woman. 

Some  weeks  passed  away,  and  Ruth  rushed  in  from 
school  with  sparkling  eyes,  exclaiming, 

"  Willie  White  has  given  me  this  pretty  pink,  mam- 
ma !  How  sweet  it  smells.  Will  you  have  it  ?" 

"  Thank  you,  my  darling,"  said  Mrs.  Raymond ;  "  but 
you  forget  that  I  told  you  not  to  speak  to  strange  boys." 

"  We  did  not  speak,  mamma,"  said  Ruth,  earnestly. 
"  Willie  just  came  half  way  across  the  street  and  held 
out  the  pink,  and  I  went  half  way  and  took  it.  Willie 
has  a  nice  new  jacket  on,  and  I  have  a  new  frock.  Is 
not  that  funny?  Will  you  go  and  see  my  anthills, 
mamma,  and  give  me  some  sugar  for  the  ants  ?" 

Mrs.  Raymond  laid  aside  her  book,  and  Ruth,  taking 
her  mother's  hand,  led  her  to  the  garden.  Children 
are  beautiful  objects  among  flowers.  There  is  some- 
thing  in  their  slight  forms,  their  elastic  tread,  their 
lovely  glow,  that  assimilates  them  to  these  delightful 
creations  ;  we  feel  that  they  are  heaven's  blossoms. 
To  her  mother's  eye,  nothing  was  fairer  amid  the  bloom 
than  Ruth.  She  would  almost  have  yielded  to  classic 
lore,  and  fancied  the  place  peopled  with  airy  beings 
peeping  from  tree  and  shrub  to  gaze  upon  the  girl,  had 


LOVE'S   PROGRESS.  15 

not  a  riper  religion,  a  purer  philosophy,  turned  her 
thoughts  to  a  higher  power.  X 

"  Here  are  my  pets  working  away,"  said  Ruth,  as 
she  stopped  and  drew  her  mother's  attention  to  two 
anthills,  side  by  side.  "  Now,  mamma,  you  will  see  how 
the  little  people  will  carry  their  load  up  hill."  Then 
crumbling  the  sugar,  she  sprinkled  it  around,  and  as 
the  ants  began  to  remove  their  spoil,  she  clapped  her 
hands  and  shouted  aloud. 

"  Mamma,"  said  she,  speaking  in  a  lower  tone,  "  do 
you  know  what.  I  call  my  anthills  ?  This  one  I  call 
Ruth,  and  that  biggest  one  I  call  Willie  White." 

One  day  Ruth  came  home  from  school  without  her 
airy  step  and  joyous  voice,  and  her  mother  saw  traces 
of  tears  on  her  face. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  my  love  ?"  said  Mrs.  Ray. 
mond. 

"  I  hate  William  White,"  said  Ruth  ;  and  her  bright 
lips  pouted  in  a  crimson  glow. 

"  Ruth,  my  child,  what  language !"  exclaimed  her 
mother.  "  You  must  not  hate  any  one."  •  &, 

«  But  I  will  hate  William  White,"  said  Ruth,  with  a 
flushed  brow  and  quivering  lip.  "  Sally  Swan  says  his 
curls  look  like  a  lapdog,  and — and"  (Mrs.  Raymond 
could  scarcely  make  out  the  rest  of  the  sentence  for 
her  sobbing)  "  she  says  /  have  a  lapdog  for  my  sweet- 
heart." 

Willie  White,  imboldened  by  the  acceptance  of  his 
pink,  one  morning  selected  the  ripest  bunch  of  cher- 
ries on  his  plate  at  breakfast  and  laid  them  aside. 

"  Who  are  those  fine  cherries  for,  Willie  ?"  said  his 
father. 

Willie  blushed  up  to  the  eyebrows,  and  said,  "I 


16  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

don't  know,  sir."  It  was  his  first  untruth ;  the  tempt- 
er begins  early.  Just  as  Willie  came  out  of  his  door, 
Ruth's  gate  opened,  and  the  little  girl  appeared.  Wil- 
lie coughed  slightly.  Ruth  seemed  very  busy  arran- 
ging her  books.  Willie  held  up  the  cherries  with  a 
smile  ;  Ruth  saw  as  though  she  saw  not. 

"  Ruth,  Ruth  Raymond,"  said  Willie,  getting  cour- 
age, "  will  you  have  these  cherries  ?"  Ruth  raised  her 
eyes  kindly  and  hesitated  ;  but  in  his  zeal  to  reach  her, 
Willie's  cap  fell  off,  and  displayed  his  thick-clustering 
ringlets  hanging  bright  in  the  sunbeams.  A  painter 
would  have  sacrificed  a  fortune  for  such  a  picture  as 
Willie  presented,  when,  with  his  frank,  glowing  face 
chastened  by  modesty,  he  held  out  the  fruit.  But  that 
which  would  have  given  Michael  Angelo  a  subject  for 
a  seraph  brought  to  little  Ruth  only  the  appalling  im- 
age of  a  lapdog,  and  with  a  half  frightened  look  she 
hastened  on,  disregarding  him. 

Willie  was  surprised,  but  followed  his  young  neigh- 
bour until  he  saw  that  her  step  was  clearly  an  avoid- 
ing one. 

"  If  Miss  Ruth  does  not  like  cherries,  I  do,"  said 
he  ;  and  he  philosophically  ate  them. 

Thus  the  first  pleasant  dream  of  young  love  was 
broken ;  and  ever  after  that,  when  Ruth  knew  that 
Willie  was  opposite,  she  looked  straight  forward,  and 
the  name  of  Willie  White's  anthill  was  changed  to 
Mr.  Perkins ;  a  most  vague  and  heartless  baptism. 


LOVE'S  PROGBESS.  17 


CHAPTER  III. 

The  Naturalist— Ruth's  Prejudice.— The  Cure.— Her  Sense  of  Jus- 
tice disturbed.— The  Butterfly  race.— Ruth's  Danger.— Change  of 
Feeling.— Doubts. 

RUTH'S  attention  was  diverted  from  her  "  love  pas- 
sage"  with  Willie  White  by  a  letter  of  introduction 
to  her  father,  announcing  Dr.  Gesner,  a  German,  an 
enthusiastic  entomologist,  who  visited  the  village  to 
pursue  his  favourite  studies  in  its  beautiful  retirement. 

The  naturalist,  of  course,  dined  early  with  the  Ray- 
monds. His  broad  face  was  deeply  indented  with  the 
smallpox ;  his  eyes,  of  a  glassy  blue,  disclosed  veins  red- 
dened  by  midnight  study  ;  his  ears  were  huge,  his  hair 
crisp  and  unmanageable ;  he  bore  about  him  through 
the  day  the  odour  of  onions  from  his  morning  meal,  and 
an  ocean  of  snuff  lay  upon  his  cravat  and  shirt  bosom ; 
he  spoke  the  English  imperfectly,  and  the  saliva  flew 
to  a  wonderful  distance  as  he  gave  out  his  odd  senten- 
ces  ;  he  talked  a  good  deal  of  diet  and  dyspepsy,  while 
laying  on  his  fork  for  each  mouthful  a  store  for  one 
delicate  appetite. 

As  Ruth  saw  him  load  his  fork  and  expand  his 
shark-like  mouth,  her  own  opened  instinctively,  and, 
forgetting  all  things  else,  her  head  and  jaws  accompa- 
nied his  movements. 

Mrs.  Raymond  recalled  her,  by  gently  touching  her 
foot  under  the  table ;  but  the  sense  of  the  ludicrous  fol- 
lowed that  of  surprise,  and  Ruth  glancing  at  her  broth- 
B2 


18  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

er,  they  began  a  giggle,  that  ended  only  by  Ruth's  be- 
ing  sent  up  stairs. 

Yet  it  was  not  a  week  before  Ruth  was  on  the  doc- 
tor's  knee  and  by  his  side,  in  the  true  spirit  of  social 
intercourse,  for  he  loved  childhood ;  his  mouth  seemed 
to  contract,  the  onion  odour  was  softened,  and  thus  was 
one  of  her  first  prejudices  overcome. 

Nor  was  Ruth  soon  wearied  as  he  unfolded  to  her 
the  beautiful  and  grand  in  nature,  the  nicety  with  which 
the  Creator  has  adjusted  all  his  works,  and  how  he 
provides  as  bountifully  for  the  insect  that  flutters  in 
summer  sunshine  as  for  rolling  worlds.  And  he  soon 
loved  the  fair  creature,  who  ran  across  the  meadow  at 
every  leisure  moment  to  visit  his  museum,  to  look 
through  his  microscope  at  the  cable-like  legs  of  spi- 
ders, and  feel  natural  disgust  give  way  before  deep 
admiration  of  the  vast  and  wonderful  in  the  machinery 
of  insect  life.  But  the  butterfly  creation  was  her  de- 
light. How  often  had  she  expended  her  strength  in 
fruitless  chases  over  garden  and  meadow  for  them, 
and  sitten  down  panting  and  exhausted  as  they  eluded 
her  grasp ;  now  their  gorgeous  outspread  wings,  ar- 
rested in  their  ephemeral  career,  were  all  before  her. 

So  far  all  was  well ;  but,  unfortunately,  Ruth  burst 
into  the  doctor's  room  on  one  occasion,  when  he  was 
about  to  impale  a  butterfly  which,  for  size  and  richness, 
seemed  the  very  prince  of  his  tribe.  Ruth,  eager  and 
delighted  at  first,  soon  sided  with  the  weaker  party. 
She  pleaded  for  his  release,  as  the  naturalist's  huge 
fingers  daintily  touched  the  velvet  wings,  that  none  of 
its  exquisite  down  might  be  removed,  while  with  the 
right  hand  he  balanced  a  fine,  sharp  needle.  Too  in- 
tent  on  his  prize  to  regard  Ruth's  countenance,  he  saw 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  19 

not  the  tears  gathering  in  her  eyes  as  the  needle  was 
inserted,  and  the  graceful  wings  of  the  prisoner  first 
fluttered  in  agitation,  then  flapped  slowly,  then  stiffened 
in  death.  Ruth's  feelings  grew  and  swelled,  and  rush- 
ing  from  the  spot,  she  vowed  that  she  would  never  en- 
ter  it  again.  It  was  hard  to  say  whether  grief  or  in- 
dignation was  most  prominent,  as  she  flew  to  her 
mother  and  related  the  occurrence ;  but  at  length  the 
tears  left  her  eyes,  though  her  cheeks  were  wet,  and 
indignation  remained. 

"  An  old,  dirty,  snuff. taking  onion-eater !"  said  she ; 
"  I  wish  he  may  be  stuck  on  a  needle  as  thick  as  our 
spit,  and  six  yards  long  !" 

"  Ruth,  Ruth,"  said  her  mother,  sternly,  "  you  forget 
that  you  are  as  cruel  now  as  you  think  Dr.  Gesner  to 
be.  Go  to  your  room  and  compose  yourself." 

Ruth  went,  and  the  principle  of  justice  began  to  stir 
her  young  thoughts,  the  most  difficult  subject,  perhaps, 
in  the  world,  whether  we  connect  it  with  the  high 
dealings  of  the  Creator,  or  with  the  feeble  agents  of 
his  power. 

A  few  days  after  this  scene  Ruth  strolled  to  the 
foot  of  the  garden,  where  a  rustic  bridge  led  to  a  mill, 
and  stood  amid  a  perfect  gush  of  sunset  glory.  She 
seemed  to  muse,  but  I  doubt  if,  at  ten  years  of  age,  the 
aspect  of  natural  beauty  operates  sensibly  on  the  mind. 
The  glowing  sky,  the  vivid  green  of  the  hills  and 
meadows,  the  hum  of  insects,  the  soft  glitter  of  the 
trickling  stream,  and  the  stronger  shout  of  falling 
waters,  the  whole  rich  apparatus  of  declining  day, 
what  are  they  like  to  early  childhood  but  the  colour, 
ing  of  ribands,  the  toys  of  the  baby  house  ?  The  key 


20  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

of  experience  must  unlock  the  associations  that  give 
grace  and  power  to  natural  beauty. 

What  were  Ruth's  thoughts  as  she  seemed  to  muse 
on  the  rustic  bridge  over  that  pure  stream,  surrounded 
by  a  sunset  that  would  have  bathed  Titian's  soul  in  glo- 
ry ?  Scarcely  on  aught  but  the  leaves  and  small  sticks 
gathering  about  the  little  whirlpool  made  by  the  mill,  i 
But  a  rustling  on  the  bank  aroused  her,  and,  looking 
up,  she  espied  Doctor  Gesner  panting  and  puffing,  his 
broad-brimmed  hat  in  his  extended  hand,  ready  to 
strike  down  a  butterfly,  which  flitted  bright,  as  if  it 
were  formed  of  the  glowing  clouds  around,  on  its  un- 
conscious way. 

Ruth  darted  to  the  bank  to  rescue  the  fugitive,  and 
waved  her  handkerchief  to  expedite  its  flight. 

"  Oh,  ho,  you  little  puss  !"  shouted  the  doctor,  "you 
scare  my  papilio,  what  you  call  butterfly.  I  keep  one 
ver  comfortable  place  for-  him  in  te  glass  cases,  you 
know,  mid  de  species  Equites.  Softly,  puss !"  vocif- 
erated the  doctor,  clapping  his  hand  to  his  forehead 
and  stamping  in  anxiety,  as  Ruth  continued  to  wave 
her  handkerchief.  Then  applying  his  eyeglass,  as  he 
approached  the  insect  resting  on  a  flower,  he  mumbled 
over  the  technical  terms,  "  Asterias,  wing-tailed,  black, 
two  macular  bands,  tail  fulvous,  &c.'&c.  Ho,  the 
beauty  !  Eh,  puss?"  and  then  raising  his  hat,  he 
stood  prepared  for  a  certain  blow. 

"You  wicked  man!"  exclaimed  Ruth,  indignantly, 
forgetting  all  respect  in  her  excitement ;  "  you  sha'n't 
kill  him.  I  wish  you  may  have  forty  needles  stuck 
through  you.  I  do." 

It  is  probable  that  the  German  may  not  have  under- 
stood Ruth's  words,  but  her  actions  were  unequivocal. 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  21 

She  rushed  towards  the  flower.  Starting  together 
again  along  the  bank  of  the  stream,  the  trio  kept  the 
victory  for  some  time  doubtful,  the  doctor's  long  strides 
amply  making  up  for  Ruth's  more  youthful  elasticity. 
Sometimes  the  butterfly  turned  back  or  stopped  to  sip 
a  flower,  and  the  guttural  exclamations  of  the  natural- 
ist  sounded  in  triumph,  while  his  tiptoe  step  was  more 
cautious,  and  his  hat  was  depressed  among  the  bush- 
es  ;  then,  as  the  fickle  insect  again  took  wing,  Ruth 
clapped  her  hands,  and  laughed  and  shouted  aloud. 

The  pursuers  were  now  about  equally  distant,  when 
the  rover  sought  a  neighbouring  shrub.  Ruth  sprang 
forward,  but  her  pocket  handkerchief,  her  main  weap- 
on, was  caught  by  the  branch  of  a  tree.  While  she 
was  disengaging  it,  the  doctor  trod  cautiously  forward 
— one,  two,  three  steps,  and  he  was  at  the  spot ;  whang 
went  the  hat,  and  the  beautiful  flutterer  fell  to  the 
ground.  Ruth  ran  to  the  rescue,  but,  just  as  she  reach- 
ed  him,  her  foot  slipped,  and  she  was  precipitated  into 
the  stream. 

I  must  do  the  doctor  the  justice  to  say,  that  he  cast 
but  one  forlorn  look  on  the  insect  as  it  struggled  from 
underneath  the  hat  and  soared  away,  with  its  gay 
wings  simply  ruffled  by  the  encounter,  before  he  threw 
off  his  coat  and  dashed  like  a  porpoise  into  the  water. 

The  struggle  was  violent,  for  the  current  set  strong- 
ly towards  the  mill,  and  our  sweet  child  of  love  and 
hope  would  have  passed  away  like  a  dream,  had  not 
the  energy  and  presence  of  mind  of  the  naturalist  been 
wisely  exerted.  Catching  her  floating  dress,  he  direct, 
ed  his  course  to  the  most  sloping  part  of  the  bank,  and, 
after  many  struggles,  drew  her  towards  the  shore. 

Ruth  had  sufficient  instinct  and  perception  to  catch 


22  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

at  a  shrub  which  bent  towards  the  stream,  and  thus  at- 
tain  a  point  of  safety  ;  but  what  was  her  terror  when 
she  perceived  her  preserver,  in  attempting  to  rise,  stag, 
ger  back  fainting  into  the  water !  A  shrill,  wild  scream 
brought  two  men  to  the  spot  before  it  was  too  late. 
They  rescued  the  doctor,  and  bore  him  to  Mr.  Ray- 
mond's. It  was  many  days  before  he  was  restored  to 
entire  consciousness.  Ruth  sat  by  his  bedside  with  a 
pitying  look,  or  laid  a  fresh  blossom  on  his  pillow, 
or  sang  hymns  to  sooth  him  ;  and  when  he  recovered, 
her  arms  were  round  his  neck,  and  her  heart  in  his 
bosom. 

"  Oh,  ho,  puss  !"  said  the  doctor  one  day  as  she  ca- 
ressed him,  "  somesing  was  turn  your  brain  to  make 
me  loss  my  papilio,  what  you  call  butterfly." 

Ruth  hung  down  her  head,  and  that  night  again  un- 
settled thoughts  of  justice,  undefined  and  disturbing, 
oppressed  her  as  she  nestled  on  her  pillow.  She  pit- 
ied the  butterflies,  but  she  loved  the  good  doctor  who 
had  saved  her  life,  and  the  morning  sun  awoke  her  to 
a  knowledge  of  good  and  evil. 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  23 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Dancing.— Monsieur  Lagrande. — Right  Appreciation  of  Motives. — 
Ruth's  Dancing. — Her  second  Preference. — An  awkward  Predica- 
ment.— A  Change. 

So  Ruth  must  go  to  dancing- school  to  the  French 
gentleman  who  has  opened  an  untenanted  shop  in  the 
village,  and  called  it  a  saloon. 

Whatever  judgment  may  be  passed  upon  dancing  as 
an  amusement  for  the  serious  and  mature,  every  one 
must  allow  its  adaptedness  to  childhood.  We  all  love 
the  active  motions  of  youth ;  how  agreeable  is  it  to 
see  those  motions  modulated  by  music,  touched  by  the 
sentiment  of  sound.  A  dancing  child  is  like  a  bright 
rose-tree  waved  by  a  breeze. 

Many  persons  have  been  surprised  at  the  solemn  and 
affecting  thanksgiving  offered  by  Mrs.  Siddons,  the  ac- 
tress, when  she  learned,  after  her  wonderful  persona- 
tion  of  the  statue  in  the  Winter's  Tale,  that  her  train 
of  tissue  had  caught  on  fire,  and  been  extinguished 
without  her  knowledge.  Others  have  been  surprised 
at  the  declaration  of  the  celebrated  Mrs.  Hamilton, 
authoress  of  Treatise  on  Education,  that  the  most  re- 
ligious moment  of  her  whole  life  occurred  in  a  ball- 
room. So,  many  persons  may  be  astonished  that  a 
dancing-master  should  teach  on  principle.  When  Mrs. 
Raymond  presented  her  blooming  Ruth,  with  new  kid 
slippers  and  a  pretty  pink  sash,  to  Monsieur  Lagrande 
at  his  saloon,  he  laid  his  hand  upon  his  heart  and  said, 

"  Believe  me,  madame,  Providence  was  bring  me 


24  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

through  peril  of  much  waters,  to  teach  true  grace  to 
de  nation  Americane." 

And,  after  an  elaborate  account  of  his  system  of  in- 
struction,  he  pressed  the  point  of  his  fiddle-bow  gen. 
tly,  but  impressively,  on  Mrs.  Raymond's  arm,  exclaim- 
ing, 

"  It  is  not  all  personne,  madame,  can  teach  de  art  of 
dance.  It  is  one  gift.  For  me,  I  am  ordained  for 
such  office,  what  you  call  an  apostle  of  dance,"  and  he 
looked  upward  with  an  air  of  responsibility. 

Let  us  who  sneer  at  this  apparent  presumption  be- 
ware lest  a  narrow  and  unphilosophic  principle  engen- 
der the  sneer.  Let  us  respect  even  a  conscientious 
pirouette  ! 

It  was  but  little  labour  to  teach  Ruth  to  dance.  Her 
flexible  form  melted  to  the  music  like  a  snow-flake 
on  the  wave  ;  the  harmony  and  she  seemed  to  become 
one.  I  could  never  tell  whether  a  certain  expression 
about  her  were  a  consciousness  of  excelling,  or  the 
mere  joy  of  motion,  as  she  floated  on  with  a  birdlike 
sway,  her  head  slightly  inclined  to  one  side,  her  eyes 
cast  down,  and  a  half  smile  on  her  lips.  I  wish  I 
could  say  it  was  always  thus  with  Ruth  ;  I  wish  that 
budding  child  had  unfolded  every  leaf  with  patient 
smoothness  ;  but  alas,  when  the  wrong  partner  asked 
her  for  the  dance,  the  rose-leaf  was  ruffled,  a  shade 
crossed  her  sunny  brow  like  the  changing  hues  of  her 
own  hills,  while  a  sullen,  pouting  lip,  and  an  uncourte- 
ous  withdrawal  of  her  hand,  spoke  volumes.  Oh, 
Ruth !  Ruth !  this  may  be  accounted  for  in  the  spoiled 
belle  of  sixteen,  but  you  of  eleven,  was  it  thus  with 
you  ? 

And  why  was  it  that,  when  that  youth  you  called 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  25 

Frederic  advanced  with  a  bow  like  the  bows  of  other 
boys,  with  gloves  no  fresher,  shoes  no  blacker,  and  face 
no  handsomer,  your  eye  gleamed  with  a  joyous  acqui- 
escence as  you  joined  the  dance. like  a  feather  on  the 
breeze  ? 

Ruth  never  asked  herself  this  question,  nor  did  she 
know  the  why.  Who  does  ?  Where  and  what  is  the 
charm  that  speaks  from  eye  to  eye,  and  says  we  un- 
derstand each  other  ?  Even  the  infant  has  its  prefer- 
ences. Carry  one  among  a  group  of  strangers^  and 
you  will  see  the  grieved  lip  show  alarm  and  disgust  at 
some,  while  to  others  the  young  disciple  of  human  feel- 
ing stretches  out  its  arms  in  wooing  confidence. 

Frederic  was  evidently  the  favourite  of  Ruth ;  as 
for  Willie  White,  he  danced  in  another  set  with  a  Miss 
Rhoda  something.  But  the  strength  of  Ruth's  new 
preference  remained  to  be  tested.  As  she  was  gliding 
along  in  the  mazes  of  a  quadrille,  her  foot  slipped,  and 
she  fell  prostrate,  not  in  the  graceful  position  which 
makes  even  a  fall  beautiful,  but  flat  on  her  back.  She 
scrambled  up,  and  heard  among  the  laughter  one  well- 
known  note  prolonged  and  louder  than  the  rest.  It 
was  Frederic's.  With  mixed  emotions  of  anger  and 
shame  she  burst  into  tears,  and,  on  recovering,  whis- 
pered to  a  little  girl  near  her, 

"  I  don't  like  that  old  Frederic !" 

In  ten  minutes  her  hand  was  given  to  a  tall,  shuf- 
fling boy  with  slouching  shoulders,  at  whom  she  had 
often  jested,  and  bright  was  the  angry  glow  on  her 
cheek  which  dried  her  lingering  tears,  and  tremulous 
the  voice  which  said, 

**  Don't  you  think  Frederic  Maxwell  ought  to  be 
C 


26  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

ashamed  to  laugh  ?    If  he  gets  down  on  his  knees  to 
me  I  won't  dance  with  him." 

Fortunately  for  Ruth's  resolution,  it  was  the  last 
week  of  the  quarter.  Monsieur  Lagrande  departed  to 
enlighten  the  heels  of  another  coterie,  and  Frederic 
went  to  a  distant  academy. 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  27 


CHAPTER  V. 

Ruth's  Singing.— A  Mother's  Mistake.— A  Question  about  Birds. — 
Ruth  falls  into  Extremes. — A  Glimpse  at  the  Future.— Angel 
Choirs. 

"  Is  that  Ruth  singing  ?"  said  some  morning  guests 
to  Mrs.  Raymond,  as  the  child,  unconscious  as  a  bird, 
sat  at  the  door-sill  watching  a  dissolving  icicle  dripping 
from  the  eaves  of  the  piazza.  "  Pray  let  us  hear  her 
sing." 

Mrs.  Raymond  felt  a  slight  struggle  between  good 
sense  and  vanity,  but  the  latter  unfortunately  triumph- 
ed, for  she  unduly  valued  Ruth's  childish  warble  and 
simple  hymns. 

Do  birds  recognise  and  prize  the  notes  of  their  fledg- 
lings, when,  released  from  their  nests,  they  blend  their 
songs  with  the  harmony  of  nature  ?  I  have  sometimes 
thought  of  this  when  the  feathered  choir  have  been  up 
and  awake  amid  the  branches  of  a  summer  forest.  Be 
this  as  it  may,  Mrs.  Raymond  enjoyed  the  first  warb- 
lings  of  her  singing-bird  with  maternal  fondness. 

"  Ruth,  love,"  said  she,  as  the  child  bounded  in,  "  the 
ladies  wish  to  hear  you  sing." 

Ruth  blushed  and  almost  retreated,  but  a  gently  in- 
sisting look  brought  her  forward. 

"  Come,  Ruth,"  said  her  mother,  "  you  were  singing 
1  The  Mellow  Horn.'  Imagine  yourself  quite  alone  on 
the  door-step  again,  and  sing  it  for  us." 

Vain  request !  Ruth  felt  herself  in  the  presence  of 
strangers  without  love,  and  their  heedful  eyes  disturbed 


28  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

her.  Nerving  herself,  however,  for  the  trial,  she  stood 
stiffly  before  her  mother,  and  with  her  hands  clasped 
in  front,  her  face  losing  all  its  sweet  mobility,  began. 
She  had  proceeded  but  a  few  notes  before  discovering 
that  the  pitch  was  too  high,  and,  not  having  self-corn- 
mand  to  stop  and  recommence,  endeavoured  to  aid 
herself  by  straining  her  neck  and  rising  on  tiptoe. 
These  instinctive  movements  failed  to  help  her  out ; 
her  face  reddened,  her  veins  swelled,  and  the  chorus 
came  out  in  an  attenuated  squeak. 

"  A  little  lower,  my  love,"  said  Mrs.  Raymond,  who 
had  been  gradually  elevating  her  own  head,  and  lifting 
her  own  feet  in  sympathy  with  Ruth  ;  "  take  the  pitch 
a  little  lower,  dear." 

Poor  Ruth  began  louder,  but  not  lower,  and  the 
**  Mellow  Horn"  was  anything  but  mellow. 

Mrs.  Raymond,  but  too  sensible  of  the  difficulty, 
caught  her  breath,  and  suggested  "  Away  with  Melan- 
choly" as  better  adapted  to  her  voice.  Ruth  looked 
imploringly,  but  the  ladies  exclaimed,  "  Oh  yes,  Away 
with  Melancholy  ;  sing  that,  dear ;  it  is  very  low !" 

And  low  it  was.     Ruth  took  a  note  as  deep 
"  As  the  Domdaniel  caves 
At  the  root  of  the  ocean," 
and  having  reached 

"  Nor  doleful  changes  ring," 

came  to  a  sudden  halt,  with  a  perplexed  look,  and 
caught  a  glimpse  of  one  of  the  ladies  diligently  stuffing 
her  handkerchief  into  her  mouth. 

Mrs.  Raymond  wisely  patted  the  little  girl  on  the 
head,  and  told  her  to  go  and  play.  And  Ruth,  the  wa- 
ter standing  in  her  eyes  from  physical  exertion,  gladly 
retreated,  to  seek  companionship  with  nature,  and  send 


I 

LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  29 

her  wild  notes  on  the  winds.  There  unseen  hands 
tuned  her  spirit's  harp  ;  the  harp  whose  tones  in  after 
years  were  to  tranquillize,  to  elevate,  or  inspire,  as  the 
mood  of  the  songster  changed  from  grave  to  gay ;  that 
harp  which  was  destined  to  lead  the  soul  to  heaven  in 
sacred  song,  to  marry  immortal  verse  to  harmony,  and 
to  waken  love's  chastest  aspirations. 

What  spiritual  eyes  were  gazing  from  above  on  that 
unconscious  one  ?  What  group,  what  celestial  choir 
then  began  to  form,  in  which  her  voice  should  chime 
immortally  ?  What  if  she  even  heard  them  as  she  hur- 
ried to  the  green  spot  where  the  spring-sun  dwelt  on 
the  first  snowdrop,  and  looked  upward  as  if  listening 
to  some  pleasant  sound  ? 

That  evening  Ruth  sat  by  her  mother's  side,  on  her 
father's  knee ;  no  word  was  said  of  the  morning,  but 
her  voice  rose  sweet  and  clear,  for  love  was  her  impulse 
and  her  reward. 

C  2 


30  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Young  Things.— Ruth  too  old  for  Dolls.— The  Doll  Family.— A  Let- 
ter.—Ruth's  Favourite.— A  solemn  Conclusion. 

READER,  if  you  do  not  love  young  things,  turn  away 
from  this  chapter,  for  Ruth  and  I  are  going  to  take  a 
look  into  her  baby-house.  It  is  the  last  look,  but  we 
shall  give  ourselves  up  to  it  with  gusto ;  besides,  we  are 
somewhat  tired  of  grown-up  things.  Our  ancient  cat 
is  lazy ;  our  flowers  have  gone  to  seed  and  smell  mus- 
ty ;  the  apples  on  that  old  mossy  tree  are  sour  ;  that 
peach-tree  has  outlived  its  time,  and  become  wormy  ; 
the  old  stone  wall  is  tumbling  over ;  the  town  clock  is 
almost  too  infirm  to  strike  ;  the  old  cow  has  dried  up  ; 
the  mare  is  broken  down ;  the  old  man  opposite  proses, 
the  old  lady  has  no  teeth,  and  we  ourselves  are  getting 
gray. 

But  look  now  at  young  things,  at  that  kitten,  for  in- 
stance ;  did  you  ever  see  anything  like  hdr  vivacity  and 
grace  as  she  chases  her  own  tail,  until  a  somerset  brings 
her  to  her  senses?  See  these  rosebuds,  fresh,  exquisite, 
opening  with  such  a  gush  of  beauty  that  I  catch  my 
breath  for  joy.  Look  at  this  apple-tree,  with  its  graft- 
ed fruit,  ruddy,  ripe,  like  a  young  girl's  cheek.  Let 
us  taste  a  nectarine  from  this  young  tree ;  U-i-p,  I  can 
scarcely  speak  for  its  juicy  fulness  as  I  break  the 
glowing  skin.  Observe  our  new  stone  wall,  how  level 
and  neat ;  the  very  squirrels  are  baffled  by  its  com- 
pactness ;  hear  the  clock  on  the  new  opposition  church ; 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  31 


one,  two,  three !  how  clear  and  young  it  sounds !  Just 
sip  a  bowl  of  milk  from  our  new  cow ;  it  looks  like  a 
draught  of  melted  pearl  $  and  here  is  Tibbet,  the  bro. 
ken  colt.  Mount  him  ;  he  has  no  tricks,  though  he  is 
young ;  he  will  carry  you  as  smooth  as  a  railroad. 
Eh !  here  is  a  young  man  too.  What  lustrous  dark 
eyes,  what  supple  limbs  !  Tall  and  bending  as  the 
osier,  he  has  leaped  the  wall  for  mere  pastime  ;  and  lo, 
yonder  approaches  a  young  maiden,  bright  as  a  rose 
and  fresh  as  a  lily ;  the  very  breeze  rejoices  to  play 
with  her  fair  hair.  See  her  springing  step  ;  she  and 
the  young  man  have  met.  Mercy  on  my  old  eyes  ! 
Betsy,  is  it  you  ?  You  had  better  go  home,  my  dear. 
*  *  *  *  * 

"  Ruth,  you  are  twelve  years  old,"  said  her  mother, 
gravely,  "  and  it  is  time  for  you  to  give  up  your  dolls. 
You  are  really  too  childish.  Your  little  cousins  are 
coming  to  see  you,  and  you  must  give  them  your  toys." 

Ruth  stood  thoughtfully  looking  at  her  baby-house, 
and  every  article  seemed  to  assume  a  new  value  ;  for, 
though  in  the  waning  stage  of  doll-ism,  and  except  on 
rainy  days  almost  weaned,  yet  now  her  old  love  revi- 
ved. On  holydays  she  always  commenced  what  she 
called  a  thorough  fixing,  which  fixing  ended  in  a  gen- 
eral  overturn  of  her  whole  establishment,  and  she  had 
just  begun  to  upset  everything  with  great  zeal.  Much 
has  been  said  of  the  advantage  of  dolls  in  teaching 
girls  to  sew  ;  I  cannot  class  my  little  Ruth  in  the  rank 
of  those  who  improved  in  this  department  under  the 
reign  of  doll-ism.  Her  needle  took  tremendous  licen- 
ses, while  nondescript  caps  and  bonnets  grew  under 
her  scissors  ;  but  her  heart  received  better  lessons. 
She  was  surrounded  by  a  world  of  her  own,  fanciful  I 


32  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

know,  but  still  a  world  dependant  on  her,  and  this  feel- 
ing  of  superiority  is  one  deep  fountain  of  love. 

There  is  a  peculiar  air  of  helplessness  about  the  in- 
mates  of  a  neglected  baby- house  that  almost  excites 
compassion.  Scarcely  a  doll  stands  erect ;  they  lean, 
and  tumble,  and  stride,  or  they  are  flat  on  their  backs 
looking  up  at  the  ceiling,  or  on  their  faces  helpless, 
prone,  and  take  many  attitudes  painful  to  the  lovers  of 
doll-like  etiquette  in  their  odd  proximities. 

It  was  on  such  a  scene  as  this  that  Ruth  now  gazed, 
and  it  was  in  this  predicament  her  dolls  had  been  left 
after  the  last  rainy  day.  The  only  figure  that  pre- 
served its  propriety  was  a  large  wax  doll  from  New- 
York,  scarcely  injured  by  time,  with  its  bright  blue 
eyes,  flaxen  hair,  and  tinsel  dress.  Her  cognomen 
was  Miss  Butterfly.  Beside  her  lay  the  dancing  doll, 
a  purchase  from  a  fair ;  it  had  passed  its  ephemeral 
hour  of  triumph,  and  now  bore  a  broken  leg,  an  affect- 
ing lesson  on  all  such  skipping  propensities.  Then 
there  was  a  large  stuffed  baby,  the  antipode  of  the 
flat-backed  dancer,  whose  redundant  cotton  materials 
oozed  out  at  every  pore  ;  there  were  some  without 
legs,  the  squatters,  or,  perchance,  fakirs  of  the  doll, 
tribe,  and  others  who  seemed  to  have  made  the  vow 
never  to  sit.  Here  might  be  seen  a  head  bald  as  if 
from  the  scalping-knife ;  and  there  were  wigs  as 
changeable  in  hue  as  that  of  a  celebrated  senator  fa- 
cetiously described  by  an  English  lady.  There  was 
the  once  stiff-bodied  kid  doll,  dangling  and  dropping 
sawdust  at  every  movement  of  its  flaccid  limbs  ;  there 
were  bodies  without  heads,  and  heads  without  bodies  ; 
a  bloodless  massacre  of  the  innocents.  In  one  corner 
was  a  bedstead  too  small  for  its  occupants>  showing 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  33 

that  Ruth  was  no  Procrustean ;  for,  hanging  from  under 
its  scanty  covering, 

"Some  saw  a  hand,  and  some  an  arm, 
And  some  the  waving  of  a  gown." 

Then  there  were  painted  dolls  of  all  sizes  classed 
in  families ;  among  them  the  three  Miss  Derbys  and 
their  mamma,  who  had  accidentally  lost  her  face.  It 
had  pealed  off,  leaving  a  white  limy  surface,  on  which 
Ruth  had  drawn  features  with  a  pen  ;  features  by 
which  the  Miss  Derbys  could  never  have  recognise^ 
their  respectable  parent.  Then  there  were  nond/- 
script  little  things  made  of  rags,  with  inked  faces./ 'It 
was  the  completion  of  one  of  these  that  brought/°rt^ 
Ruth's  first  pun,  who  ran  shouting  to  her  moti^j  "  -A- 
doll  I  try,"  which  pun  Mrs.  Raymond  was  /pt  to  re- 
peat  until  it  was  somewhat  stale. 

Besides  this  infantile  regiment,  Ruth  was  in  the  hab- 
it  of  taking  dolls  to  board  at  a  pin  a  weeV-  Pinned  to 
the  hand  of  one  Mrs.  Raymond  fomtf  the  following 
epistle : 

"Dear  mamma,  i  am  well  anr  hope  you  are  the 
same,  i  like  to  board  with  Mis'  Ruth  there  is  twenty 
five  dolls  of  us  counting  the  o*  without  a  head  which 
stays  on  the  shelf,  i  don't  Uce  the  Miss  Derbys,  they 
are  so  proud  one  of  ther*  spit  on  me.  We  have  a 
very  serious  family,  i  \^e  a  serious  family,  nobody 
laughs  but  Miss  Ruth.  Two  of  Miss  Ruth's  dolls  is 
to  be  married.  Dr.  Gisner  is  to  be  the  marrier.  Mr. 
Washington  Irving^  to  marry  Miss  Hannah  More, 
and  Miss  Beauty  J*  to  be  bridemaid. 

«  The  marryhg  is  done.  Mr.  Irving  had  new 
clothes  and  Miss  Hannah  More  put  on  a  veil.  Dr, 


34  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

Gesner  kissed  the  dolls  and  said  now  you  are  married, 
and  we  all  laughed  except  the  Miss  Derbys  and  they 
spit.  I  am  your  dutyful  daughter, 

"  NANCY  DOLL. 

"  Miss  Ruth  says  you  owe  a  pin  for  last  week's 
board,  and  if  you  don't  pay  she  shall  sew  you." 

Mrs.  Raymond,  who  rightly  attributed  this  epistle  to 
Ruth,  was  shocked,  as  well  she  might  be,  with  its  in- 
\ccuracy,  particularly  with  the  want  of  capital  I's. 

The  Miss  Beauty,  a  doll  without  a  nose,  alluded  to 
as  -ridemaid,  was  Ruth's  favourite.  It  had  been  her 
companion  for  so  long  a  period  that  it  seemed  a  part 
of  her,  xnd  sne  devotedly  loved  this  fright,  with  its  blear 
eyes  and  leprous -looking  complexion.  This  was  the 
doll  she  hau  talked  to  ;  to  this  she  had  fitted  garments, 
and  this  sht  caressed  on  her  pillow.  While  the  ele- 
gant Miss  B.tterfly  sat  in  a  state  unnoticed  and  un- 
loved, Ruth's  ow  or  gladsome  song  was  poured  out 
over  Miss  Beaui:'s  faded  form.  Sometimes  she  was 
even  jealous  of  thv  dashing  New-Yorker. 

"  You  think  you^lf  very  grand,  Miss  Butterfly," 
said  she,  as  the  uncoircious  image  sat  upright,  glaring 
at  her  with  its  blue  e^s,  "  you  think  yourself  very 
grand  because  you  have  usmart  frock,  and  red  cheeks, 
and  curling  hair,  but  I  lov,  poor  Beauty  better  with 
her  old  face ;  don't  I,  Beaut;  ?"  and  she  bestowed  a 
kiss  on  the  jagged  cheeks  of  Jer  favourite. 

It  was  with  a  feeling  of  peculiar  tenderness  then 
that  Ruth  glanced  at  Miss  Beau*y,  who  now  sat  with 
her  face  to  the  wall,  one  foot  rest^g  on  the  shoulder 
of  another  of  the  fraternity.  Her  tousins  came,  and 
she  gracefully  distributed  her  little  store  among  them ; 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  35 

but  Beauty  was  quietly  withdrawn  and  placed  in  a 
drawer.  It  was  a  silent  but  emphatic  triumph  of  Love. 
That  soiled,  marred,  disfigured  image,  which  she  laid 
apart  in  tender  sadness,  what  was  it  but  an  emblem 
full  of  deep  meaning  ?  It  lay  alone  and  in  darkness ; 
it  was  ridiculed,  but  she  cherished  it  still. 

And  so,  Ruth,  we  have  seen  you  sunder  your  first 
juvenile  associations.  The  toys  of  infancy  are  scat- 
tered,  the  baby-house  is  closed.  By-and-by  the  toys  of 
girlhood  will  be  thrown  away.  After  that  will  come 
the  last  great  change ;  you  will  lie  down  in  the  grave, 
and  the  broken  toys  of  earth  too  will  vanish. 


LOVE  S  PROGRESS-, 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  Sleep  of  Childhood.— Its  Terrors.— A  Story  from  Dr.  Gesmer. 
—Ruth's  Distress.— Its  Cure. 

PAINTERS  have  sketched  and  poets  have  sung  the 
sleep  of  childhood.  The  contrast  of  Ruth's  sleep  with 
her  waking  was  lovely.  In  her  day  face  there  was  .a 
restless,  flashing  charm,  which  took  the  gazer  by  a 
sweet  surprise,  and  an  undulation,  a  wave  in  her  mo- 
tions, that  conveyed  an  instantaneous  thought  of  life ; 
but  her  repose  was  statue-like  ;  sleep  took  possession 
of  her  like  an  enchantress,  and  her  white  night-dress 
lay  still  as  chiselled  marble  on  her  bosom.  But  who 
can  tell  the  wild  and  fearful  thoughts  that  preceded 
this  profound  repose  ?  None  but  those  who,  like  Ruth, 
have  trembled  at  the  mystery  of  darkness,  and  many 
such  there  are,  for  no  innocence  shuts  out  this  terrible 
visitation  from  childhood.  The  gallant  boy,  who  over- 
comes  difficulties  and  assails  foes  in  sunshine,  cowers 
with  a  throbbing  heart  on  his  pillow ;  and  many  a  young 
girl,  conversant  through  the  day  with  sights  and  sounds 
of  gladness,  from  which  one  would  think  her  after 
thoughts  would  take  their  colour,  glances  fearfully 
through  her  apartment,  hurries  over  her  prayers,  and 
covers  up  her  eyes  with  the  bedclothes,  her  head  al- 
most glued  to  her  pillow  in  its  nervous  pressure. 

As  yet  the  discipline  of  Ruth's  parents  had  been  un- 
availing to  conquer  her  fear  of  loneliness  at  night» 
The  signal  for  rest  was  to  her  like  a  call  to  a  prison. 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  37 

One  evening,  the  closing  meal  of  the  day  was  over, 
the  fire  blazed  brightly,  some  pleasant  neighbours  en- 
tered, and  the  little  circle,  gradually  laying  aside  books 
and  work,  gathered  around  the  hearth,  and  fell  into 
those  discussions  on  supernatural  appearances  to  which 
the  mind  insensibly  turns  from  its  every-day  experience. 
Each  had  some  anecdote  to  tell  or  theory  to  urge  ;  and 
as  Ruth  sat  on  her  low  seat  by  Dr.  Gesner's  knee, 
drinking  in  the  discourse  with  eager  curiosity,  he 
smoothed  down  her  hair  with  his  great  hand,  and  re- 
lated his  experience  too. 

"  My  habits  as  a  naturalist,"  he  said,  "  have  led  me 
into  many  adventures.  Being  on  a  pedestrian  excur- 
sion, I  was  once  overtaken  by  night  in  an  unfrequented 
part  of  my  own  country,  and,  while  doubtful  which  way 
to  turn,  a  storm  arose,  increasing  the  wildness  of  the 
scene  and  the  perplexity  of  my  feelings.  The  rain 
fell  in  torrents,  the  lightning  glared  fiercely,  and  the 
thunder  went  rattling  on  from  cloud  to  cloud  like  the 
war-chariots  of  the  gods.  I  groped  my  way  from  tree 
to  tree,  totally  uncertain  which  way  to  bend  my  course. 
As  I  approached  one,  a  flash  of  lightning  rent  it  from 
its  topmost  bough  to  the  solid  trunk,  and  the  electric 
fluid  rushed  over  me,  bringing  a  momentary  suspension 
of  my  faculties.  On  recovering,  I  passed  the  tree ;  its 
shivered  splinters  were  revealed  by  the  lightning,  stand- 
ing out  in  bent  and  jagged  twistings.  I  hurried  on  by 
a  kind  of  impulse,  as  if  the  ghost  of  the  stricken  tree 
could  pursue  me,  until  another  flash  of  lightning  re- 
vealed to  me  a  solitary  building.  I  was  not  slow  in 
hastening  to  its  shelter.  There  appeared  to  be  only 
one  room,  with  a  low,  unsashed  window,  protected 
from  the  elements  by  a  shed  without.  Groping  around 
D 


38  LOVE  S  PKOGEESS. 

the  apartment,  I  felt  some  straw,  seemingly  thrown  for 
a  bed,  beneath  the  window,  and,  finding  no  occupant, 
took  off  my  dripping  garments,  clothed  myself  afresh 
from  my  knapsack,  and  laid  down  on  the  straw.  Grate- 
ful  for  the  shelter,  I  soon  fell  asleep,  and  dreamed 
that  I  was  chasing  a  huge  dragon-fly.  My  happy  and 
profound  rest  was  broken  just  before  day  by  a  sound 
near  me  of  such  strange  and  terrific  power,  that  I 
thought  a  legion  of  fiends  had  assailed  me ;  a  sound 
accompanied  with  a  blow  on  my  face.  I  listened  in 
terror.  It  was  repeated,  but  fierce  and  deep  breathing 
sounded  close  to  my  ear.  Though  bewildered  with 
my  deep  sleep,  I  resolved  to  meet  my  fate  with  bra- 
very ;  and  aiming  with  both  hands  at  the  object  over 
me,  caught  hold  of  a  mass  of  long,  flowing  hair. 
'  Speak,'  said  I,  sternly,  '  if  you  have  the  spark  of 
man's  spirit  about  you,  who  are  you,  and  what  do  you 
want  with  an  unoffending  traveller  ?'  There  was  no  re- 
ply, but  a  kind  of  moan,  a  tremendous  thrust  at  the 
wainscot  outside,  the  same  breath  of  awful  and  por- 
tentous power,  and  the  low  growl  of  the  departing 
thunder. 

"  I  kept  my  hands  clutched  to  the  hair,  resolved  not 
to  give  up  my  advantage,  trusting  to  my  unusual  mus- 
cular strength,  until  the  dawning  day  should  reveal  my 
foe,  while  thoughts  of  assassins  were  but  too  busy  in 
my  agitated  brain.  Once  more  I  appealed  to  my  pris- 
oner. 

" '  Speak,  man,  or  whatever  you  are,'  I  said, « speak. 
I  am  but  a  poor  traveller.  I  have  no  gold,  no  silver. 
Two  dragon-flies,  five  lizards  in  bottles,  and  a  frog  of 
a  new  species,  which  I  hope  some  Society  of  Natural- 
ists will  name  for  me,  are  all  my  possessions.' 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  39 

"  The  assassin  muttered  and  jerked,  but  returned  ne 
answer.  Fortunately  for  me,  for  the  joints  of  my  fin- 
gers were  becoming  stiff  by  long  effort,  the  day  began 
to  dawn.  I  looked  with  strained  and  eager  sight  to 
my  prisoner,  and  discovered,  not  the  terrible  murderer 
I  feared,  but  the  tail  of  a  donkey  protruded  through  the 
window. 

"You  laugh,  my  beauty,"  said  the  doctor,  who  had 
told  his  story  in  his  broken  English ;  "but  if  somesing 
was  flap  in  your  face  in  se  darkness,  you  scare  too,  Miss 
Ruth." 

Amid  the  laughter  and  frolic  occasioned  by  the  doc- 
tor's story,  Ruth  was  dismissed  for  the  night  unusually 
excited  ;  the  bright  lights,  the  affectionate  caress,  all 
forming  but  too  strong  a  contrast  to  her  lonely  room. 
Darkness  and  silence  soon  peopled  her  imagination  with 
unreal  shapes.  Conscious  of  her  own  weakness  and 
of  her  parents'  resolution  to  conquer  it,  she  struggled 
with  her  feelings  and  went  to  bed.  She  had  no  sooner 
tried  to  close  her  eyes,  than  the  little  circles  of  light 
retained  on  the  retina  seemed  to  increase  to  such  a 
frightful  number  as  if  space  could  not  contain  them ; 
then  they  danced  off  to  a  distance,  then  crowded  near, 
until  she  felt  suffocated,  and  threw  off  the  bedclothes  in 
terror.  Sleep  fled  away  ;  and,  starting  up  in  bed,  she 
strained  her  eyes  open,  when  some  new  imagination, 
rising  in  the  darkness,  made  her  crouch  down  again 
and  crush  her  lids  together,  until  the  physical  effort 
was  painful.  She  heard  the  cheerful  voices  below ; 
they  seemed  a  mockery  of  her  sufferings ;  and  with  irre- 
sistible impulse,  she  screamed,  "  Mother,  mother." 

Mrs.  Raymond  came  to  her,  remonstrated,  scolded, 
soothed,  and  left  her.  Ruth  remained  a  few  moments 


40  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

silent,  but  she  wept  bitterly,  and  felt  like  an  outcast ; 
she  could  not  be  still;  and,  rising  softly,  stole  down 
stairs  and  sat  at  the  foot,  where  she  could  hear  human 
•words.  Mr.  Raymond  found  her  there,  and  told  her 
angrily  to  retire.  She  went,  and  thought  him  hard- 
hearted. Alas,  she  did  not  know  that  her  parents,  be- 
wildered  and  sorrowful,  sat  almost  in  tears  by  her  door. 
Again  she  screamed,  "Father,  mother."  Mr.  Ray. 
mond  entered  her  room  and  chastised  her.  Ruth,  ter- 
rified and  ashamed,  wept  bitterly,  again  said  her  pray- 
ers, repeated  her  multiplication  table,  and  at  last  wept 
herself  to  sleep.  She  did  not  know  that  an  hour  after- 
ward her  father  was  bending  over  her  now  placid  sleep 
in  love  and  prayer. 

The  next  night,  and  the  next,  and  the  next,  the  poor 
trembler  crouched  down  in  silence,  conquered  in  body 
but  not  in  mind.  Fear  of  man  will  rarely  triumph 
over  the  imagination  ;  the  dread  of  darkness  and  lone- 
liness usually  masters  every  other.  The  "banished 
child  will  feel  her  best  friends  to  be  her  enemies,  if  no 
trusting  love  nestles  on  her  pillow.  I  am  filled  with  a 
deep  sentiment  of  melancholy  when  I  contemplate  the 
sufferings  of  a  timid  child.  Parents,  guardians,  mould 
them  with  love.  They  are  delicate  plants  that  turn  to 
you  for  life  and  nourishment;  why  let  their  sunny 
time  be  overcast  with  fear  ? 

"Suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Raymond,  soon  after  this 
event,  "  we  let  Ruth  sleep  with  her  sister." 

It  acted  like  a  charm.  Companionship  drove  out 
fear  ;  sympathy,  love  was  called  forth,  and  Ruth,  with 
her  arm  around  her  sister's  neck,  sank  to  rest  like  a 
summer  blossom. 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  41 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Ruth  not  a  Genius. — The  promised  Prize  at  School. — Dangers  of  the 
System.— Effect  on  Ruth.— Ruth's  Triumph.— The  Exhibition.— 
Abby  Mansfield.—  Ruth's  Mortification  and  Self-Conquest.— The 
Prize  awarded. 

RUTH  had  never  been  what  is  called  a  genius.  Up  to 
the  age  of  twelve  she  had  learned  her  lessons  mechan- 
ically. Dates  were  her  stumbling-block,  and  were 
totally  unaccompanied  by  ideas.  She  was  aided  in  her 
lessons  and  recitations  by  Abby  Mansfield,  a  bright,  per- 
severing girl,  who  had  long  sustained  the  first  place  in 
the  class  without  a  rival.  When  Ruth  was  in  her  thir- 
teenth year,  it  was  announced  that  a  public  examina- 
tion would  take  place  at  the  usual  time,  on  which  oc- 
casion a  prize  would  be  given,  and  the  best  scholar 
crowned  with  a  wreath  of  flowers.  Ruth  suddenly 
awoke,  and  rushed  to  her  books  with  a  diligence  and 
thoroughness  that  astonished  the  school.  Thought  was 
busy  on  her  brow,  her  mental  energy  expanded,  and 
with  it  a  consciousness  of  her  power.  But  the  pro- 
cess with  her  heart  and  affections  was  less  favourable, 
for  she  was  a  rival  to  Abby  Mansfield.  The  plan  of 
school  prizes  is  one  always  attended  with  heart-burn- 
ing. There  should  either  be  no  prize,  or  else  so  many 
and  so  graduated,  that  every  scholar  who  has  any  merit 
either  of  the  head  or  heart  (and  who  has  not  some  ?) 
should  carry  home  a  little  testimonial  to  prevent  the 
almost  infinite  distance  between  the  prize  and  none. 
How  many  fine  minds  are  depressed  by  the  almost  in- 
D2 


42  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

vidious  distinction  springing  from  prizes,  and  then  how 
many  wild  and  bad  passions  are  let  loose  !  How  much 
cunning  and  envy  enter  on  the  arena  of  a  school  thus 
constituted ! 

A  book  was  kept  by  Miss  Southward,  the  teacher, 
and  a  mark  placed  against  the  name  of  those  who  were 
at  the  head  of  their  class  at  the  close  of  a  recitation. 
She  who  obtained  the  most  was  to  win  the  prize.  The 
first  day  Ruth  attained  this  enviable  situation  was  in 
the  absence  of  Abby,  who  was  detained  at  home  by  in- 
disposition.  A  thrill  of  exultation  ran  through  her 
whole  frame,  crushing  the  soft  and  tender  sympathy  that 
had  bound  her  so  long  to  her  friend.  From  that  mo- 
ment she  allowed  herself  no  respite  from  study  until 
her  tasks  were  accomplished.  Abby  pursued  her 
course  in  calm  self-possession,  while  Ruth  was  now  wild 
with  gayety,  and  then  depressed,  cold,  and  thoughtful. 
Sometimes,  as  she  saw  the  fluctuating  scale  of  marks, 
an  awfully  dark  temptation  crossed  her  thoughts,  which 
she  repulsed  with  self-disgust. 

^  "  Oh,  Abby,"  she  said  often, "  if  there  were  only  two 
prizes !" 

Abby  smiled  kindly.     "  I  wish  there  were,"  said  she ; 
"but  I  am  willing  this  should  be  yours." 
'    One  day  Ruth  rushed  home  glowing  and  triumphant. 
"  I  have  more  marks  than  Abby,  mamma  ;  I  shall  have 
the  prize !" 

"  But  poor  Abby !"  said  her  mother. 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Ruth,  despondingly.     "  Sometimes 
•   I  feel  wicked,  mamma,  when  I  think  of  that  prize." 

Mrs.  Raymond  was  silent ;  it  was  her  habit  to  let  a 
good  impulse  have  its  way. 

The  few  remaining  weeks  flew  by,  and  Ruth  still 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  48 

maintained  her  slight  though  decided  ascendency.  Her 
manners  to  Abby,  though  affectionate,  were  deficient  in 
that  rush  of  confidence  where  sympathy  is  perfect. 

The  day  of  exhibition  arrived.  A  formidable  circle 
was  placed  in  regular  arrangement  around  the  apart- 
ment ;  while  the  pupils,  dressed  in  white,  the  classes  dis- 
tinguished by  sashes  of  different  colour,  sat  on  each  side 
and  behind  their  teacher,  who  presided  at  a  table  on 
which  was  placed  a  box  containing  the  prize  and 
wreath. 

Ruth,  who  was  at  the  head  of  the  class,  flushed  and 
agitated,  stumbled  on  the  very  threshold,  and  shunned 
the  gaze  of  the  expectant  audience.  Dates,  her  old 
trial,  were  sadly  anachronized,  and  at  last,  after  stam- 
mering a  while  on  the  most  simple  proposition,  the  tears 
rolled  from  her  eyes,  and  she  stopped  short.  Abby 
softly  prompted,  and  then  endeavoured  to  screen  her, 
but  to  no  good  effect ;  the  tears  fairly  rolled  down,  and 
self-possession  was  gone.  Her  friend,  well  grounded 
in  all  her  studies,  recited  with  the  air  of  one  to  whom 
knowledge  was  familiar ;  her  voice,  full  of  sweet  dis- 
tinctness, conveyed  all  that  her  teacher  wished  should 
be  understood,  while  a  gentle  glow  lit  up  her  placid  face 
with  spiritual  beauty. 

As  Ruth  listened  to  her  beautiful  recitation,  a  thought- 
ful mood  came  over  her,  which  gradually  strengthened 
to  an  air  of  determination  ;  then  a  bright  agitation  kin- 
dled in  her  eye  and  burned  on  her  cheek  ;  and  when  the 
class  was  dismissed  to  give  place  to  another,  she  softly 
stole  behind  her  teacher's  chair. 

"  Miss  Southward,"  whispered  she,  while  a  deeper 
flush  rose  even  to  her  brow, "  I  do  not  deserve  the  prize, 
and  I  shall  feel  miserable  if  Abby  does  not  receive  it. 


44  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

I  have  exerted  myself  for  a  few  months,  and  she  has 
been  your  best  scholar  for  years." 

Miss  Southward  smiled  kindly.  "  Your  generous 
feelings  shall  be  consulted.  I  have  watched  you  both 
with  great  interest,  Ruth."  And  she  pressed  Ruth's 
hand  as  it  rested  on  the  back  of  her  chair. 

Ruth  breathed  more  freely. 

"  Who  is  that  exquisite  creature,"  said  a  lady  to  Miss 
Southward,  "  who  just  spoke  to  you,  with  such  a  rain- 
bow  struggle  between  tears  and  smiles  ?" 

The  exercises  were  concluded,  and  there  was  the 
usual  hush  over  the  audience,  when  Miss  Southward 
rose  and  called  "  Miss  Ruth  Raymond." 

Ruth  started,  blushed,  and  shrank  back,  but  an  imper- 
ative look  from  her  teacher  brought  her  forward ;  and 
Miss  Southward  threw  a  medal  round  her  neck,  and 
placed  a  wreath  of  flowers  in  her  hair. 

"  My  dear  Ruth,"  she  said  aloud,  "  as  my  plan  will 
not  permit  me  to  bestow  two  prizes,  I  authorize  you  to 
dispose  of  this  as  you  will." 

Saying  this,  she  drew  from  the  box  another  medal 
and  wreath,  and  laid  them  in  Ruth's  hand.  Ruth  sprang 
to  her  friend,  gladly  and  proudly  threw  the  medal  on 
her  neck,  and  placed  the  crown  on  her  brow,  while  the 
two,  tearful,  blushing,  and  smiling,  stood  together, 
touching  monuments  of  childhood's  love. 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  45 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Friendship's  first  Grief.— The  new  Friend.— Patronage  and  Love. — 
First  reading  of  Shakspeare.— The  Kitten  Perdita's  Danger.— Its 
Rescue. 

"  WHY  is  Ruth  sorrowful  ?  She  has  stolen  from  the 
family  circle,  retreated  to  her  own  apartment,  and  ta. 
ken  from  her  escrutoire  a  love-knot  of  soft  brown  hair, 
which  lies  within  a  larkspur  wreath,  tied  with  blue 
riband.  She  has  gazed  on  it  sadly  and  sighed.  Why 
is  Ruth  Raymond  sorrowful  ?  Abby  Mansfield  has 
chosen  another  bosom-friend.  A  classmate  of  her 
father's  has  brought  his  daughter  to  the  village,  and. 
they  are  seen  arm  interlacing  arm,  earnest  looks  and 
significant  smiles  pass  between  them,  and  they  are 
whispering  those  whispers  that  Abby  once  shared  with 
Ruth  only.  They  have  just  gone  by  the  gate  with 
laughter,  and  Ruth  heard  their  voices  as  she  sat  alone 
in  the  garden,  and  saw  their  white  dresses  as  they 
passed  down  the  green  lane  to  that  very  moss-grown 
stone  which  Ruth  thought  was  consecrated  to  her. 

Ruth  shook  her  head  thoughtfully  as  she  replaced 
the  little  relic  of  friendship,  and  said  almost  aloud, 

"  Let  her  go,  if  she  will.  I  would  not  have  desert, 
ed  her  for  a  stranger." 

And  then,  with  a  step  bereft  of  its  elastic  spring,  she 
descended  the  stairs.  When  near  the  foot  she  heard 
a  shout  in  the  piazza,  and  soon  perceived  a  dirty,  trem- 
bling kitten,  followed  by  the  children,  who  kicked  or 
shrank  from  it  with  exclamations  of  disgust.  Ruth 


48  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

instantly  took  it  under  her  protection,  warded  off  the 
boys,  and,  finding  none  of  the  servants  willing  to  at- 
tempt its  ablution,  undertook  herself  such  a  process 
of  purification  as  was  given  to  Tom  Jones  in  the  house 
of  Mr.  Allworthy.  If  the  kitten  had  been  comely,  one 
might  have  thought  it  a  reward  for  her  benevolence  ; 
but  the  streams  of  Fair  Mount  would  not  have  had 
power  to  change  the  undefined  gray  of  her  coat,  nor 
could  all  Ruth's  training  lend  an  air  of  feline  aristoc- 
racy to  the  poor  little  stranger.  But  Jove  soon  began 
to  work  in  Ruth's  heart,  or  pity,  which  is  akin  to  love, 
inspiring  an  emotion  which  the  sleek,  well-fed  cat  of 
the  household  had  never  obtained  from  her.  Ruth  had 
commenced  Shakspeare,  and  her  pet  was  appropriate- 
ly named  Perdita.  It  was  soothing  to  her,  now  that 
she  experiened  the  first  grief  of  forsakenness,  to  listen 
to  her  kitten's  soft  breathings,  or  watch  her  noiseless 
tread  from  room  to  room,  or  caress  her  as  the  little 
puss 

"  With  soft  insinuating  purr 
"  Brush'd  by  her  ankle  with  her  silken  fur." 

The  principle  of  love,  to  the  development  of  which 
my  story  leads,  seems  to  be  an  attachment  to  some- 
thing existing  apart  from  purely  natural  relations ;  a 
something  which  even  the  filial  and  fraternal  bond  can- 
not supply.  It  may  be  the  beginning  of  that  restless- 
Bess  which  signs  us  as  immortal,  but  it  is  often  lavished 
on  most  insignificant  objects.  Cowper  was  full  of  this 
out-of-door  tenderness,  and  his  rabbits  have  become 
themes  for  biography.  Byron,  maddening  against  the 
world,  petted  a  bear  ;  while  the  countless  parrots,  tab- 
bies, lap-dogs,  and  canaries,  which  receive  the  lavish 
tenderness  of  the  happy  and  the  sad,  show  that  there 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  47 

is  something  in  the  breast  which  mere  consanguinity 
cannot  supply.  Thus,  when  Ruth  found  a  void  in  her 
heart,  it  was  not  filled  up  by  her  brothers  and  sisters, 
though  they  were  a  winning  set  of  little  urchins,  but 
she  beguiled  herself  with  Perdita.  Glorious  were  the 
frolics  of  those  two ;  the  racing,  and  climbing,  and  turn- 
bling  over,  until  quieter  hours  came,  when  the  kitten 
nestled  in  the  lap  of  her  protector,  looking  gratitude  ! 
Ruth  had  frowned  and  scolded  down  all  ridicule  of  her 
darling,  and  her  only  fear  was  from  a  circle  of  youths, 
who  assembled  together,  under  a  lecturer  on  chemis- 
try, in  the  village.  Dark  rumours  went  abroad  that 
the  feline  community  were  but  too  often  immolated  by 
them  on  the  shrine  of  science.  Ruth  shuddered  as 
she  listened  to  the  tales  of  these  Torricellian  bandits, 
and  clasped  her  little  Perdita  closer  in  her  arms. 

I  have  said  that  Ruth  was  reading  Shakspeare.  Oh 
that  first  delicious  opening  of  the  mental  firmament, 
when  his  beams  look  through  to  enlighten  and  to  bless } 

Ruth's  tasks  were  over  for  the  day.  The  stale  and 
musty  road  of  History  had  been  trodden,  the  eternal 
jingle  of  the  piano  was  hushed,  and,  with  book  in  hand, 
she  retired  to  the  garden,  forgetting  even  Perdita.  But 
Perdita  would  not  be  forgotten ;  she  well  knew  where 
Ruth  would  be,  and  hastened  after  her  with  reproach- 
ful mewings.  There  was  an  apple-tree  by  the  garden 
wall,  on  a  limb  of  which  was  Ruth's  favourite  seat. 
It  was  so  low  that  a  stone  was  her  footstool,  while  her 
back  rested  against  the  body  of  the  tree,  a  branch  of 
which  screened  her  from  the  lane.  I  wish  I  could 
paint  this  bright  expanding  girl  at  that  very  hour,  her 
white  hand  glittering  through  the  foliage,  as  her  arm 
entwined  the  tree,  one  foot  swinging  easily,  while  the 


48  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

other  rested  on  the  stone !  But  I  am  partial  to  Ruth, 
and  may  overcharge  the  picture.  The  scene  around 
her  was  worthy  of  her  ;  mountain  and  river,  blossoms 
and  the  skies  !  and  Perdita  too  helped  out  the  pic- 
ture,  as  she  frisked  on  the  gravelled  paths  below. 

It  was  Shakspeare's  Tempest  that  Ruth  now  opened. 
She  glanced  at  the  Dramatis  Persona?,  and  from  that 
to  the  kitten,  which  was  chasing  a  dead  leaf  which  a 
little  local  whirling  wind  was  carrying  along.  Ruth 
cheered  on  her  pet,  the  leaf  was  attained,  then  slight- 
ed,  and  she  sat  looking  up  in  Ruth's  face  silently. 

Ruth  began, 

*'  Master.     Boatswain ! 

"  Boats.     Here,  master ;  what  cheer  ?" 

Perdita  started,  and  then  crouched  down  ready  to 
spring  on  a  butterfly,  which,  hovering  over  an  even- 
ing  primrose,  seemed  to  wait  its  first  opening. 

"  You  little  monster,"  said  Ruth,  waving  off  the  in- 
sect,  "  you  are  after  the  papilio.  what  you  call  butter, 
fly,  eh  ?" 

Perdita  yielded  to  her  loss  with  all  kittenly  meek- 
ness,  and  purred  herself  to  sleep,  while  Ruth  read  on. 

And  now  the  scene  began  to  change  ;  she  no  longer 
sat  on  the  old  apple-tree  amid  the  garden  bloom  ;  the 
Hudson  glided  not  on  its  smooth  way ;  the  mist  rose 
not  amid  the  hills ;  the  robin's  note  was  unheard.  She 
was  on  a  desert  island  ;  the  heavens  were  darkened  ; 
thunders  rolled  and  lightning  gleamed  on  the  clashing 
clouds ;  a  solitary  ship  was  seen  toiling  on  the  billowy 
sea ;  human  beings  were  in  her,  noble  creatures,  whose 
cry  did  knock  against  her  very  heart.  Poor  souls,  they 
perished !  Then  saw  she  an  old  man  and  a  maiden, 
admired  Miranda,  the  top  of  admiration  !  and  then  a 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  49 

youth,  one  might  call  him  a  thing  divine,  for  nothing 
natural  one  ever  saw  so  noble  !  But  look  !  a  smile  13 
on  Ruth's  lips  (you  cannot  see  her  eyes,  the  lashes 
shade  them  so) ;  a  gentle,  answering,  kindling  smile,  for 
music  is  in  the  air.  It  is  no  mortal  business  or  sound 
that  the  earth  owes  ;  the  songster  does  his  spiriting 
gently.  Fine  apparition  !  my  quaint  Ariel  ! 

Perdita  had  awaked,  and  tried  her  customary  arts  to 
attract  her  mistress  in  vain.  For  a  space  she  sat  up 
erect,  looking  in  her  face  with  a  suppressed  mew  ;  then 
rolled  over  and  over  on  the  gravel ;  then  sprang  on  the 
stone,  and  rubbed  against  Ruth's  foot,  even  reaching 
her  hand,  as  it  fell  heedlessly  by  her  side,  until,  finding 
herself  utterly  unheeded,  she  climbed  the  stone  wall, 
whose  irregular  juttings  gave  her  easy  access  to  the 
top.  There  she  stood,  peeping  now  at  Ruth,  now  over 
at  the  green  lane  on  the  other  side,  when  a  sudden  cry 
startled  the  absorbed  reader,  and  she  looked  yp  just  in 
time  to  see  a  hand  which  had  clutched  the  kitten  sud- 
denly withdrawn  with  its  prize.  Ruth  flung  down  her 
Shakspeare,  sprang  from  the  tree  to  the  wall,  mounted 
rapidly  to  the  top,  and  leaped  into  the  lane  below. 
There  the  figure  of  a  retreating  intruder  stimulated 
her,  and  she  ran  rapidly  on  in  pursuit.  Once  she  had 
nearly  gained  him  in  the  open  lane,  but  he  suddenly 
turned  through  some  shrubbery  adjoining.  Ruth,  still 
undaunted,  kept  on,  gained  another  view  of  him,  and  at 
length  saw  him  enter  the  Lyceum  Hall,  which  had 
been  newly  erected  in  a  retired  part  of  the  village. 
Had  she  paused  for  thought,  her  courage  might  have 
failed  ;  but  the  only  image  in  her  mind  was  Perdita  in 
that  hateful  air-pump,  struggling  for  life.  Pushing  on, 
therefore,  she  threw  open  the  door  with  all  her  force, 
E 


50  LOVE'S  PROGRESS* 

and  found  herself  in  a  hall  of  large  dimensions^  with  a 
group  of  young  men,  one  of  whom  was  examining 
with  great  coolness  the  quiverings  of  a  cat  in'  a  re- 
ceiver. Her  alarm  and  modesty  would  unquestiona- 
bly have  overwhelmed  her,  had  she  not  at  the  same 
moment  seen  a  paw  of  Perdita  peeping  from  out  the 
waistcoat  of  the  fugitive  student.  And  who  was  that 
student  ?  Willie  White  ;  his  curls  shorn,  all  but  two 
that  fell  becomingly  over  his  temples,  while  a  long  coat 
testified  that  he  was  looking  up  to  the  ranks  of  men. 
It  is  difficult  to  say  which  blushed  the  more  deeply  as 
their  eyes  met,  while  Mr.  White,  in  endeavouring  to 
screen  Perdita  from  observation,  gave  her  a  squeeze 
that  produced  a  melancholy  and  protracted  mew.  It 
was  absolutely  necessary  for  Ruth  to  say  something,  for 
her  appearance  and  situation  were  becoming  rather 
alarming.  Her  comb  had  fallen  out  in  the  chase,  leav- " 
ing  her  long  braided  hair  streaming  down  behind,  and 
a  rent  was  visible  in  her  frock,  which  had  caught  in  the 
bushes  :  still  there  was  an  elevated  and  wild  grace  in 
her  air,  which  the  toilet  could  not  have  given.  She 
was  about  beginning  with  an  apology  for  her  appear, 
ance,  but  another  mew  from  Perdita,  and  a  suppressed 
smile  among  the  young  gentlemen,  made  her  angry, 
and,  going  up  to  White,  she  said  passionately, 

u  Give  me  my  kitten  this  moment,  sir.  You  have 
no  right  to  it." 

There  was  silence  ;  the  young  gentlemen  were  too 
much  ashamed  to  be  just,  and  again  they  smiled,  though 
in  perplexity. 

At  this  moment  the  first  subject  of  their  experiments 
gave  her  last  convulsive  and  terrific  gasp.  Ruth  start- 
ed  back  in  terror ;  then  doubling  her  small  hand,  and 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  51 

almost  stamping  her  foot  in  her  excitement,  while  a 
bright  red  spot  flushed  in  her  cheek,  she  said,  in  a 
voice'where  sarcasm  and  indignation  mingled, 

"  It  is  a  pity  that  science  should  make  thieves  of 
gentlemen  !" 

Perhaps  the  taunt  was  displeasing  to  the  young  chem- 
ists, for  they  still  seemed  determined  to  carry  off  the 
thing  cavalierly.  Ruth's  quick  eye  detected  the  ex- 
pression  of  the  group,  and,  feeling  that  her  poor  little 
pet  was  lost  to  her,  she  stood  a  moment  silent,  and  then 
slowly  turned  to  go  away.  She  was  too  proud  for 
tears,  but  there  was  a  deep,  unaffected  expression  of 
grief  on  her  countenance  that  thrilled  all  their  hearts, 
and  the  cry,  "  Give  up  the  kitten,  White  !  Let  her 
have  the  kitten  !"  went  round  the  hall.  William,  only 
too  willing  to  perform  this  act  of  restitution,  laid  the 
panting  little  creature  in  Ruth's  hands,  whispering, 

"  Forgive  me,  Miss  Raymond." 

As  she  received  the  rescued  victim,  he  met  the  re- 
proachful  glance  of  her  now  tearful  eyes.  Shaking 
her  head  impatiently,  she  deigned  no  answer,  nor  gave 
a  look  to  the  group  behind  ;  but,  pressing  Perdita  close 
to  her,  ran  as  for  life  until  she  reached  her  home. 

Willie  White's  dreams  were  perplexed  that  night  by 
juvenile  remembrances  of  the  White  Cat  and  the  Beau- 
tiful  Princess  ;  and  when  he  awoke  it  was  to  wonder 
if  Ruth  Raymond's  smile  was  as  lovely  as  her  an- 
ger  ;  while  his  companions  long  after  remembered  the 
flashing  eye  and  lofty  look  of  disdain  with  which  she 
asked, 

"  la  science  to  make  thieves  of  gentlemen  7" 


52  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Ruth's  Bedroom.— Her  Library.— Love  Tokens.— Music.— Roman- 
ces.— Ruth  writes  Poetry. 

RUTH  told  over  and  over  again  to  the  various  mem- 
bers  of  the  family  the  tale  of  Perdita's  rescue.  Her 
father  looked  grave,  fearing  that  some  feminine  at- 
tribute had  been  infringed  upon ;  her  mother  felt 
somewhat  triumphant ;  the  children  quarrelled  which 
should  have  the  honour  of  giving  the  kitten  her  supper, 
and  little  Walter  doubled  up  his  fist  as  a  challenge  to 
all  future  foes.  Ruth  retired  to  her  apartment  in  un- 
usual excitement.  But  let  us  look  at  that  apartment ; 
two  years  have  passed  since  we  were  there  in  the  reign 
of  doll-ism.  The  large  closet,  once  the  baby-house,  is 
now  the  boudoir ;  that  is,  Ruth  calls  it  so  when  she 
dates  a  letter  to  a  young  friend.  Now  was  the  reign 
of  girlhood :  taste  and  judgment  struggling  with  old 
associations,  an  odd  intermingling  of  the  juvenile  and 
the  mature.  Pictures  were  Ruth's  passion ;  and,  in 
lieu  of  more  valuable  acquisitions,  her  wall  was  mostly 
covered  with  daubs  and  caricatures,  though  it  must  be 
confessed  her  eye  rested  with  more  complacency  on 
the  divine  expression  of  a  Madonna,  which  was  sus- 
pended, in  strange  juxtaposition,  next  to  a  stiff,  flaunt, 
ing  costume  of  a  fashion  of  three  years  standing  on  a 
female,  with  a  waist  that  nature  never  made.  On  her 
dressing-table  were  accumulated  the  gifts  of  years,  in 
the  shape  of  scent-bottles,  and  boxes  of  all  forms  and 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  53 

hues ;  while  here  and  there  might  be  seen  a  relic  of  the 
baby-house  appropriated  to  useful  or  ornamental  pur- 
poses.  Her  library  bore  the  same  marks  of  inequality. 
Berquin's  Children's  Friend,  and  even  Barbauld's  Les- 
sons, which  chanced  to  be  well  bound,  looked  out  on 
the  shelf  beside  Mrs.  Chapone's  Letters ;  a  Goody  Two- 
Shoes,  to  which  some  kindly  private  associations  were 
attached,  peeped  out  with  its  dog-eared  leaves  from  be- 
hind Thomson's  Seasons,  while  a  Sunday-school  Hymn- 
book,  given  her  by  her  venerable  pastor,  was  placed, 
with  its  defaced  covers  neatly  pasted,  beside  a  richly 
gilt  Bible,  the  gift  of  her  fourteenth  birthday. 

But  the  secular  book  most  prized  in  her  collection 
was  a  small  volume  then  recently  issued,  an  exquisite 
altar  whereon  the  young  imagination  may  kindle  its 
early  incense — Willis's  Poems. 

I  aim  at  no  criticism,  no  plummet  and  line  for  book- 
measuring  here ;  but  I  ask  any  one  just  to  place  that 
volume  in  a  young  girl's  hands,  and  see  how  the  pulse 
of  poetry  will  begin  to  throb,  how  her  eyes  will  kindle 
and  melt  to  tears,  as  some  lofty  or  tender  sentiment 
finds  an  echo  in  her  bosom.  In  three  months  let  him 
look  at  the  book,  and  he  will  find  it  dark  with  pencil- 
lines-,  those  little  indexes  of  mind. 

I  have  passed  over  several  preferences  with  which 
various  youths  in  round  jackets  had  inspired  Ruth,  as 
too  ephemeral  to  register  ;  but  there  were  indications 
of  these  things  all  around  her ;  initials  in  pencil,  on 
her  panels  and  books,  and  initials  written  with  diamond 
on  the  window-pane,  ineffaceable,  alas  !  too,  for  the  in- 
dividual was  forgotten  ;  here  was  a  faded  flower  care- 
fully folded  up  ;  there  was  a  picture  or  toy  without 
any  attraction  but  from  its  association  with  the  giver } 
E  2 


54  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

on  a  piece  of  paper  which  the  housemaid  swept  out, 
was  written, 

"I  shall  never  forget  Saturday  night,  June  18th. 
Blissful!  blissful!" 

A  sprig  of  arbor  vitse  shared  the  same  fate  ;  it  went 
down  to  the  dust  unhonoured,  with  these  words  attach- 
ed  to  it : 

«  Presented  me,  February  9th,  by  J.  C.  Long  as 
memory  retains  its  empire  shall  I  remember  the  even- 
ing." 

Then  on  books  and  slips  of  paper  might  be  seen  stale 
poetical  passages  with  marked  italics. 

"  Where'er  I  go,  whatever  realms  I  see, 
My  HEART  untravell'd  fondly  turns  to  thee. 
The  course  of  true  love  never  did  run  smooth,"  &c.,  &c. 

In  the  retirement  of  this  familiar  room,  alone  and 
undisturbed,  Ruth's  voice  began  to  swell  rich  and  full 
with  her  guitar  accompaniment ;  and  as  she  tested  the 
power  of  her  own  tones,  Orphean  fables  seemed  real- 
ized  to  her  imagination  ;  the  summits  of  the  hills 
around  her  stood  out  in  clearer  lines,  the  clouds  group, 
ed  up  in  more  pillowy  masses,  and  the  trees  waved  in 
more  graceful  play.  It  was  here  too  that  romance 
threw  its  mysterious  foldings  around  her,  shutting  out 
the  world,  and  making  the  page  on  which  she  dwelt  the 
theatre  of  passion.  Here,  kindled  to  an  indignation 
beyond  control,  she  dashed  the  unoffending  volume  of 
the  Children  of  the  Abbey  on  the  floor,  when  Amanda 
was  caught  in  the  snares  of  a  villain  ;  here  she  sobbed 
herself  into  a  headache  over  the  fate  of  Paul  and  Vir- 
ginia ;  here  she  shook  with  terror  at  the  wild  horrors 
of  Maturin  ;  here  she  glowed  and  trembled  with  Jean- 
nie  Deans ;  gasped  for  breath  as  the  trapdoor  fell 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  55 

over  the  lovely  and  unconscious  Amy  Robsart,  and 
turned  from  the  chimney-corner  lest  she  should  see 
Lucy  Ashton  making  mouths  and  chattering  in  its  re- 
cess. And  it  was  here  that  Ruth  first  surprised  herself 
with  her  own  rhymes.  Was  it  possible,  she  asked  her- 
self, that  she  had  written  three  whole  verses  1  How 
delicious  was  the  title  ! 

"  To  the  first  Violet." 

She  trod  the  room  elastically  ;  it  seemed  like  a 
dream,  yet  there  it  was,  "  flower  and  bower,"  "  leaf  and 
brief,"  "  see  and  tree,"  palpable  to  her  eye,  full  of  eu- 
phony to  her  ear  ;  and  those  thoughts,  were  they  born 
of  her,  that  exquisite  image  of  the  violet  shrinking  like 
a  modest  maiden  1 

Ruth  copied  it  in  her  best  hand,  went  to  the  door, 
turned  back,  and  then,  gathering  resolution,  carried  it, 
conscious  and  blushing,  to  her  mother.  Mrs.  Ray- 
mond was  delighted,  and,  encouraged  by  her  mother's 
praise,  she  went  to  her  father,  who  was  reading  a  re- 
view on  the  literature  of  Modern  Europe.  At  first 
her  eyes  were  cast  down,  then  raised  in  intense  and 
painful  interest  as  his  moved  from  line  to  line.  He 
returned  her  the  paper  with  the  least  possible  shrug 
of  his  shoulders,  and  something  of  a  smile,  it  might  be 
of  approbation,  but  it  looked  a  little  quizzical  as  he 
said, 

"  The  first  piece,  you  say,  my  dear  ;  take  care  of 
sing-song.  Moderate  prose  is  always  better  than  mod- 
erate poetry." 

Ruth  walked  quietly  and  somewhat  slowly  out  of  the 
apartment,  and  shut  that  door  softly  ;  but  the  next  and 
the  next  were  slammed  to  with  increasing  vehemence 
until  she  reached  her  own,  which  she  double-locked. 


56  LOVE'S   PROGRESS. 

Then  came  the  whirlwind  of  a  first  literary  mortifica. 
tion.  She  stamped  up  and  down  the  apartment,  tore 
"  The  first  Violet"  to  fragments,  and  threw  herself  on 
the  bed  in  almost  hysterical  agony. 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  57 


CHAPTER  XI. 

The  Age  of  Presumption.— Despondency.— Religious  Love. 

THE  impetuosity  and  decision  of  character  which 
was  so  interesting  in  its  occasional  developments,  be- 
gan to  make  Ruth  less  attractive  in  her  domestic  rela- 
tionsl  Feeling  her  power  in  some  things,  she  claim- 
ed the  right  of  judgment  in  all.  And  this  is  the  pe- 
riod when  it  is  most  difficult  to  preserve  perfect  sym- 
pathy between  parent  and  child;  the  former  forgets 
too  often  that  infancy  has  gone,  and  that  Providence 
itself  has  given  that  self-will  to  youth,  whose  very  mis- 
takes teach  the  most  profound  lessons  ;  while  the  child, 
feeling  no  longer  the  want  of  leading-strings,  throws 
them  off  impatiently,  seeking  no  substitute  in  paternal 
love  for  paternal  care.  The  age  of  fifteen  is  the  age 
of  presumption  ;  but  it  is  one  of  deep  and  impassion, 
ed  feeling,  of  wild  transitions,  self-abasement,  triumph. 
Few  reflect  upon  the  trials  of  this  chrysalis  state,  when 
the  butterfly  spirit  of  youth  throbs  and  beats  against 
the  prison-shell  of  childhood.  At  this  age  of  incipient 
power  there  is  frequently  deep  despondency.  Often 
when  her  will  was  thwarted,  and  sometimes  when  it 
was  not,  this  distrust  fell  upon  Ruth.  Her  parents 
seemed  tyrannical,  her  friends  to  have  forsaken  her, 
and  she  wept  in  secret  with  a  bitterness  that  should 
only  belong  to  sin  and  experience.  These  things  are 
necessary  to  the  dark  and  narrow  path  by  which  man 
enters  on  the  table-land  of  faith  and  love;  and  thus 


58  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

Ruth,  surrounded  by  friends,  flushed  with  health,  felt 
often  unloved  and  lonely ;  and  when  a  common  eye 
saw  no  grief-cloud  on  her  horizon,  breathed  a  despair- 
ing wish  that  the  grave  might  cover  her. 

Ruth  rose  one  morning  in  this  state  of  nervous  ex- 
citement ;  she  was  disrespectful  or  cold  to  her  parents, 
tyrannical  to  the  children,  and  dictatorial  to  the  ser- 
vants, bearing  about  with  her  the  air  of  one  who  had 
been  aggrieved,  without  asking  sympathy.  She  strug- 
gled against  her  feelings,  knowing  that  her  smiles  made 
sunshine  in  her  home  ;  that  they  were  reflected  on  her 
father's  brow,  and  settled  in  her  mother's  heart.  She 
busied  herself  in  her  studies,  and  tried  to  beguile  her- 
self with  amusements,  but  all  seemed  stale  and  un- 
profitable. The  day  passed  away,  and  she  sat  alone 
(for  her  unsocial  mood  had  driven  all  away)  on  the 
door-sill,  where  a  few  years  before  she  had  watched 
the  dissolving  icicle.  It  was  an  autumnal  twilight ;  the 
evening  gust  brought  leaf  after  leaf  in  faded  yellow  to 
her  feet,  and  drove  the  flitting  clouds  rapidly  by.  As 
the  darkness  gathered,  a  sound  of  music  was  borne  on 
the  air ;  that  sound  the  most  mirthful  when  the  heart  is 
gay,  the  saddest  when  it  is  sorrowful ;  the  preceding 
strain  of  a  violin  for  the  dance.  Ruth  listened,  and 
slow  tears  dropped  like  that  once  dissolving  icicle  from 
her  eyes.  She  was  utterly  forsaken  and  forlorn.  By- 
and-by  a  star  or  two  smiled  out  through  the  scudding 
clouds,  and  then  the  moon  followed,  tinging  those  clouds 
with  glory.  A  sudden  flash,  I  know  not  what,  as  if 
from  the  spear  of  Ithuriel,  came  on  Ruth's  mind,  en. 
lightening  and  subduing,  and  a  voice  seemed  to  say, 
"  God  made  thee,  and  he  loves  thee."  Her  tears  were 
checked  ;  the  thought  of  Deity  overshadowed  her ;  the 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  59 

firmament  shrank  away  ;  star  after  star  shrank  in  the 
distance,  and  prayer  was  on  her  lips.  She  rose  softly, 
went  to  her  bedroom,  and  would  have  kneeled  by  her 
bedside,  but  the  privacy  there  was  not  deep  enough  ; 
groping  her  way  to  a  recess  behind  the  chimney,  form- 
ed  by  a  sloping  roof,  she  threw  herself  on  her  knees. 
It  was  the  first  prayer  of  her  soul.  Sorrow  for  sin,  hope 
of  pardon,  struggled  on  her  eloquent  lips  ;  the  fountains 
of  religious  faith  were  unsealed  and  gushed  forth,  and 
rested  not  until  the  spirit  of  love  descended  on  her 
with  a  seal  of  peace.  Ruth  returned  to  the  family. 
A  sweet  repose  was  in  her  manner,  though  her  eyes 
bore  traces  of  tears.  Her  father  wondered  at  the  new 
tenderness  of  her  air,  but  her  mother  guessed  that  she 
had  been  with  God.  -;  '*.?  • 


60  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Ruth  Sixteen.— Her  Apartment.— Seals. — Ruth  Romantic. —  HOT 
Mortification.— Development  of  Mind. — Invitation  to  a  Ball. 

THE  reign  of  girlhood  is  over,  and  Ruth,  in  brilliant, 
sensitive  sixteen,  sits  by  her  toilet,  contemplating  the 
changes  which  her  mother's  thoughtful  affection  has 
made  in  her  apartment ;  the  new  flowing  curtains,  the 
well-matched  furniture,  and  the  large  mirror  substituted 
for  the  small  one,  in  which  she  could  discern  only  a 
modicum  of  her  pretty  person  !  Ruth  rose  and  walked 
towards  it,  then  backward  ;  the  image  there  was  certain- 
ly lovely,  and  it  smiled  as  it  saw  that  even  its  feet  were 
visible.  As  she  stood  thus,  lost  in  admiration  partly  of 
herself  and  partly  of  her  acquisition,  she  perceived 
some  one  in  the  glass  mimicking  her  tiptoe  movement 
and  making  grimaces  ;  it  was  her  brother  Frederic. 
Ruth  blushed,  slapped  him,  half  in  anger,  and  locked 
the  door. 

Do  you  ask  how  Ruth  looked  ?  Think  of  your  love- 
liest  friend,  and  you  may  partially  behold  her ;  for  every 
one  said,  when  talking  with  Ruth  five  minutes,  "  How 
much  Miss  Raymond  reminds  me  of  some  one  !"  She 
gave  another  glance  at  herself,  sat  down  to  her  centre- 
table,  and  looked  around  once  more  to  see  if  aught  yet 
could  be  done  to  perfect  her  arrangement.  No  picture 
remained  conspicuous  but  the  Madonna ;  and  Ruth 
seemed  now,  from  her  mother's  care,  to  understand  bet- 
ter than  ever  the  soft  loving  eye  whose  fringed  lids  were 
bent  on  her  child.  She  passed  a  short  time  over  her 


LOVE'S   PRQGHESS.  61 

work-box,  arranging  its  little  elegances,  and  then,  as 
if  a  sudden  thought  moved  her,  opened  her  writing-desk 
and  took  out  her  seals.  They  were  just  now  her  pas- 
sion ;  the  little  horde  had  increased  until  she  had  grad- 
uated every  sentiment  from  the  most  bald  ceremony  to 
the  most  tender  regard.  She  threw  aside  one  which 
bore  the  scriptural  and  to  me  delightful  name  of  Ruth 
(alas,  the  owner  was  ashamed  of  her  oldfashioned  pat- 
ronymic !),  and  selecting  Pour  toujours,  began  the  fol- 
lowing note. 

"DEAR  ISABEL, 

"  It  is  an  age  since  I  have  seen  you.  Have  you  for- 
gotten our  walk  by  the  bridge  ?  '  Have  all  your  oaths 
and  protestations  come  to  this  ?'  Meet  me  under  the 
willow  at  sunset,  and  love  still  your 

"  RUTHIANA." 

An  interruption  prevented  Ruth  from  sealing  her 
note,  and  a  gust  of  wind  carried  it  into  the  entry, 
Ruth  searched  for  it  in  vain,  and  the  next  morning, 
Frederic,  who,  like  some  other  brothers  in  the  world, 
seemed  to  think  a  sister's  feelings  but  a  toy  to  play 
with,  read  it  aloud  with  much  gravity,  laying  a  painful 
stress  on  the  signature. 

The  shout  that  followed  was  overwhelming ;  even 
Mr.  Raymond  was  inexpressibly  diverted,  and  gave 
vent  to  a  cachinnation  that  rang  on  Ruth's  ear  with 
metallic  harshness.  She  bent  over  her  coffee  with 
blushes ;  and  from  that  day,  when  she  betrayed  any 
affectation,  for  Ruth  did  occasionally  show  symptoms 
of  that  disease,  the  nickname  of  Ruthiana  was  buzzed 
F 


62  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

about  the  little  circle.     Thus  salutary,  though  painful, 
are  the  unfoldings  of  domestic  intercourse. 

But  Ruth,  with  all  her  foibles,  had  an  abundant  re- 
serve of  sound  and  valuable  good  sense.  Having  pass* 
ed  the  drill  of  elementary  teaching,  she  began  to  ap- 
ply her  resources  and  educate  herself.  She  did  not, 
like  some  girls,  rush  to  romances  as  a  novelty,  for  her 
parents  had  allowed  her  for  several  years  to  read  one 
alternately  with  a  solid  book  ;  thus  the  great  mass  of 
her  thoughts  were  on  the  latter,  which  lay  long  in  her 
hands,  while  the  novels  were  hurried  through  for  the 
narrative.  It  was  delightful  now  to  see  the  use  Ruth 
made  of  her  new  liberty.  Romance  and  history  were 
read  to  illustrate  each  other,  and  those  works  of  fancy 
only  selected  where  authorship  claimed  literary  re- 
spect. '  Her  room  began  to  assume  the  air  of  a  study, 
though  brightened  and  polished,  of  course,  by  feminine 
taste. 

But  much  was  Ruth  upset  in  her  grave  pursuits  one 
day,  when  a  card  for  her  first  ball  was  placed  in  her 
hands.  Down  went  her  maps,  over  fell  a  globe,  and 
as  she  descended  two  stairs  at  a  time  to  show  it  to  her 
mother,  Miss  RAYMOND  never  appeared  to  her  to  have 
stood  in  such  conspicuous  letters.  An  immediate  con- 
sultation was  held. 

"  Everybody  has  a  new  dress  for  the  first  ball,  mam- 
ma," said  Ruth  ;  "  everybody." 

"  What,  if  they  have  a  frock  they  have  worn  only 
twice  ?"  said  Mrs.  Raymond,  smiling. 

The  white  muslin  was  brought  from  the  drawer,  and, 
after  much  searching,  Ruth  certainly  detected  a  small 
spot  on  the  front  breadth  ;  and  the  decision  was,  that 
Ruth  should  have  a  new  muslin  dress,  with  a  pale  pink 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  63 

flower  in  her  hair,  and  Isabel  was  to  be  asked  to  wear 
the  same. 

Ruth  was  restless  that  night,  and  dreamed  that,  as 
she  was  beginning  to  Ja/anceJfeto  William  White  at 
the  ball,  Perdita  peeped  out  from  his  waistcoat  and 
mewed. 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A  Funeral  Bell.— The  Village  Burial.— Ruth  and  a  Stranger. 

THERE  was  something  touching  and  solemn  in  the 
obsolete  custom  of  a  funeral  bell.  I  have  felt  its  influ- 
ence in  town  and  country.  In  a  city  it  recalled  me 
from  the  rush  and  hurry  of  life  to  muse  and  think  of 
death.  I  did  not  ask  the  village  question,  Who  is  dead  ? 
but  the  very  thought  that  none  of  the  passers-by  knew 
who  had  gone  to  his  last  account,  made  human  weak, 
ness  show  still  more  frail.  In  the  country,  that  sound 
accorded  well  with  the  voice  of  nature  ;  swelling  to  the 
hills,  echoed  in  the  valleys,  it  told  its  warning  tale  with 
tenderer  emphasis. 

An  old  schoolmistress  of  the  village  died,  and  Ruth, 
with  her  mother,  went  to  pay  the  accustomed  respect 
to  her  remains.  They  walked  contemplatively  along, 
musing  or  moralizing  in  serious  harmony  with  the  toll- 
ing  bell,  until  they  reached  the  mansion  of  the  deceas- 
ed among  the  first  visitors.  Her  family  sat  around  in 
quiet  sorrow,  while  ranged  in  the  entry,  in  a  simple 
uniform  of  white,  with  black  ribands,  stood  her  pupils. 
For  a  time  deep  silence  dwelt  in  the  apartment  of  the 
women;  then  a  low  hum,  as  sympathy  or  curiosity 
found  utterance.  As  each  new-comer  entered,  the 
mourners  looked  down  more  steadfastly,  and  the  unin- 
terested glanced  up  furtively  in  silence  ;  then,  the  whis- 
pers became  more  assured,  and  worldly  subjects  entered 
in,  in  tones  modulated  and  lengthened  by  the  lugubri- 
ous associations  of  death.  Now  the  voices  from  with- 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  05 

out  were  gradually  heard,  rising  from  the  suppressed 
tone  of  sympathy  to  social  greeting,  and  once  a  laugh 
grated  strangely  on  Ruth's  nerves.  She  had  never  at- 
tended a  funeral,  and  her  heart  beat  fast  as  she  saw  the 
long,  fresh,  looking  coffin,  with  its  plated  ornaments,  and 
faster  still  when,  following  her  mother,  she  looked  in, 
and  dwelt  on  the  face  of  the  dead,  the  pinched  and 
colourless  features,  the  sunken  eyes,  the  thin  gray  hairs 
smoothed  on  the  skinny  brow,  and  the  cold  blue  lips. 
Ruth  remembered  that  those  lips  had  taught  her  the  ru- 
diments of  knowledge,  and  she  sat  down  in  tears. 

The  coffin-lid  was 'screwed  down ;  and  as  the  vener- 
able clergyman,  in  trembling  tones,  prayed  that  her 
death,  who  had  gone  to  heaven's  portal  just  before  his 
turn  had  come,  might  be  sanctified  to  the  young,  whom 
she  had  taught  good  knowledge,  and  to  the  aged,  who 
had  walked  thus  far  with  her  through  this  vale  of  tears, 
stifled  sobs  were  heard  around.  The  coffin  was  borne 
out ;  the  little  girls,  wiping  their  eyes,  followed,  prece- 
ding the  relatives  and  near  friends,  who  were  called  by 
name,  down  the  lane.  The  remaining  visiters  were 
next  invited  to  walk  ;  and  as  they  reached  the  door, 
the  nearest  gentleman  silently  tendered  his  arm  to  the 
lady  that  came  in  turn.  Ruth,  agitated  and  blinded  by 
sympathetic  tears,  with  downcast  eyes,  passively  took 
an  offered  arm.  The  burial-place  was  half  a  mile  dis- 
tant. Ruth's  companion  was  silent,  and  she  could  not 
utter  a  syllable,  though  the  couple  before  them  talked 
unrestrainedly.  Pausing  at  a  winding  road  along  the 
base  of  a  hill,  the  procession  assumed  an  air  of  roman- 
tic  interest  apart  from  its  solemnity,  the  white-robed 
girls  standing  in  contrast  with  the  sable-clothed  mourn- 
ers. Ruth's  companion  looked  on  them  with  rapt  at- 
F2 


66  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

tention.  "  There  is  something  very  touching,"  said  the 
young  man  (Ruth  had  an  instinct  that  he  was  young), 
**  there  is  something  very  touching  in  the  spectacle 
of  these  innocent  children  following  to  the  grave  one 
so  old." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Ruth,  falteringly. 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  Nature  has  blessed  this  spot  with  peculiar  beauty," 
said  the  young  gentleman  (for  Ruth  was  sure  that 
he  was  a  young  gentleman)  ;  "  one  might  be  willing  to 
die  here." 

Another  pause. 

"  Were  you  acquainted  with  this  old  lady  ?"  asked 
the  young  man. 

Ruth's  heart-strings  began  to  loosen  at  this  ques- 
tion ;  self  was  forgotten,  and  her  childlike  spirit  re- 
vived. 

She  told  about  her  early  school-days ;  how,  even  then, 
though  it  was  so  long  ago,  Mrs.  Ramsay  was  very  aged, 
and  how  nicely  she  used  to  look  in  her  armchair  on 
the  sanded  floor,  with  her  mob  cap  and  folded  kerchief; 
and  how  sorry  she  was  she  had  ever  been  roguish  and 
offended  her ;  and  how  she  knew  she  must  be  happy,  be- 
cause  she  was  so  good,  and  how  lonely  the  house  would 
look  when  old  Mrs.  Ramsay  no  longer  sat  by  the  door 
in  summer  under  the  honeysuckle  arbour,  and  how  she 
should  miss  her  in  the  next  pew  at  church,  where  she 
had  handed  her  over  the  hymn-book,  with  the  psalms 
open,  for  ten  years. 

Ruth  was  somewhat  astonished  when  they  reached 
the  graveyard,  and  her  grief  was  renewed  as  the  little 
girls  parted  on  the  right  and  left  at  the  gate,  and  the 
procession  passed  through  to  the  open  grave.  Then 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  67 

the  gentlemen  fell  back  to  allow  the  children  and  the 
women  to  advance,  and  Ruth  lost  her  companion. 

The  children  and  mourners  circled  round  the  grave 
and  wept.  But  why  ?  Who  should  mourn  when  the 
ripened  shock  falls  to  the  ground  ?  No  smiling  babe, 
torn  from  its  mother's  bosom,  closed  there  its  innocent 
eyes;  no  youth,  in  the  flush  and  glow  of  existence, 
treading  on  life's  flowers  ;  no  citizen,  faithfully  work- 
ing  out  his  duties,  and  struggling  with  its  cares.  She 
who  had  gone  had  budded,  bloomed,  ripened,  and  de- 
cayed ;  her  task  was  done,  the  servant  was  called  to 
her  wages,  the  heir  to  the  supper  of  love. 

On  returning  from  the  funeral,  Ruth  was  eloquent 
in  praise  of  her  late  companion. 

"  I  will  venture  anything,  mamma,"  said  she,  "  that 
he  is  the  Alfred  Clarendon  who  is  one  of  the  junior 
managers  of  the  ball." 

"  Why  so  ?"  said  her  mother. 

"  He  looks  as  if  he  were,"  answered  Ruth,  "  or,  rath, 
er,  he  speaks  as  if  he  were,  for  my  eyes  were  so  red  I 
was  ashamed  to  look  up  at  him  fully." 

After  walking  on  in  silence  for  some  time,  Ruth  said, 
with  the  faintest  possible  tinge  of  consciousness  in  her 
manner, 

"  Do  you  not  think,  mamma,  that  there  was  something 
very  touching  in  the  aspect  of  those  children  following 
one  so  old  to  the  funeral  ?" 

She  had  appropriated  nearly  every  word  of  her 
partner. 


68  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Ruth's  Sabbath  and  Church. 

RUTH  rose  on  the  Sabbath  following,  and  hushed 
earth's  cares  to  rest  as  they  fluttered  in  her  bosom. 

Beautiful  Sabbath,  soft  halcyon  on  life's  turbid  wa- 
ters! how  blessingly  dost  thou  come  to  the  weary, 
how  brightly  to  the  gay  !  What  blue  depths  thy  still- 
ness  lends  to  the  heavens,  speaking  of  infinity  :  what 
reposing  verdure  to  the  earth,  telling  of  love.  Even 
over  the  city's  cramped  habitations,  the  Sabbath  morn- 
ing clouds  fold  their  white  wings  and  rest,  as  if  waiting 
for  the  prayers  of  thousands  to  lift  them  up,  or  float 
gently  away  to  yield  the  upward  eye  a  glimpse  of  heav- 
en. Beautiful  Sabbath,  soft  halcyon  in  life's  turbid 
waters,  I  bless  thee ! 

And  Ruth  blessed  the  Sabbath.  It  was  to  her  a  day 
of  love.  Restrained,  but  not  depressed,  her  thoughts 
turned  inward,  while  her  little  bark  of  life  lay  still  in  its 
tranquil  harbour. 

She  turned  from  her  morning  toilet  to  the  window, 
where  a  fall  of  snow  in  the  night  had  wrought  its  fairy 
changes ;  the  lingering  leaves  of  autumn  contrasted 
glowingly  with  the  sunlit  frostwork  below  and  around, 
and  as  they  dropped  in  the  stillness  one  by  one,  with 
golden  and  crimson  dies,  it  seemed  as  if  nature,  like 
some  tired  beauty,  threw  listlessly  off  the  drapery  of 
her  triumphant  hours. 

Chilled  with  the  frosty  air,  Ruth  threw  her  fur  cape 


LOVE  S   PEOGEESS.  09 

about  her,  and  traversing  her  apartment,  committed  to 
memory  the  hundred  and  third  psalm.  Its  tenderness 
accorded  well  with  her  gentle  spirit ;  and  as  the  kind, 
ling  verses  at  the  close  flowed  on  like  a  trumpet-tone, 
her  heart  expanded,  and  she  cried  aloud  with  clasped 
hands  and  uplifted  eyes,  "  Bless  the  Lord,  oh  my  soul !" 

But  Ruth  was  mortal,  and  when  the  bell  rang  for 
church  her  straw  bonnet  was  tied  on  with  a  conscious, 
ness  of  becomingness ;  and,  even  when  her  foot  was  on 
the  threshold,  she  ran  back  to  a  glass  to  adjust  a  blue 
riband  that  contrasted  with  her  throat,  like  one  of  her 
own  violets  on  a  snowbank,  until  the  voice  of  her 
mother  chiding  her  delay,  brought  her  back  to  religious 
duty. 

When  were  we  at  church  before  with  Ruth  ?  Not 
since  her  baptism,  when  her  eyes  were  closed  in  fee- 
bleness,  her  heart  still  as  the  valley  flower  where  winds 
come  not ;  when  tiptoe  youth  stood  gazing  at  the  little 
stranger,  and  old  age  knew  not  whether  to  feel  joy  or 
sorrow  that  a  child  was  born  into  the  world. 

Ruth's  second  visit  to  church  was  at  the  age  of  three 
years.  Clasping  her  mother's  hand,  she  toiled  or  leap, 
ed  up  the  ascent,  pausing  here  and  there  to  gather  a 
flower  or  pick  up  a  pebble,  prattling  of  infantine  no- 
things  until  entering  the  porch.  Then,  with  her  little 
features  composed  to  a  pleasant  demureness,  she  was 
lifted  to  a  three-cornered  seat  opposite  her  mother, 
where  she  thrust  out  her  new  morocco  shoes  for  the 
benefit  of  spectators,  or  knocked  them  against  the  bench 
to  their  annoyance.  The  first  expedient  resorted  to 
by  Mrs.  Raymond  to  divert  her  restlessness,  was  to 
give  her  a  bouquet  of  flowers  at  the  commencement  of 
the  sermon,  with  permission  to  pull  them  to  pieces. 


70  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

Ruth  was  very  earnest  in  this  procedure  for  several 
Sundays  ;  and  as  she  arose  at  "  amens,"  threw  a  show- 
er of  blossoms  from  her  lap  that  almost  made  her  a 
personification  of  Thomson's  Spring.  .  v;| 

It  so  chanced  that  one  morning  a  farmer  sat  dos-d- 
dos  to  Ruth  in  the  next  pew,  who  bore  about  with  him 
one  of  the  last  queues  of  this  generation.  Overcome 
by  his  entire  cessation  from  physical  effort,  he  fell 
asleep,  and  Mrs.  Raymond,  having  provided  Ruth  with 
a  lap  full  of  flowers,  became  absorbed  in  the  sermon. 
The  pressure  of  the  top  of  the  pew  brought  the  far- 
mer's queue  to  a  horizontal  position  with  Ruth's  ear. 
She  pushed  it  gently  aside  several  times,  and  scratched 
the  tickled  extremity  ;  but,  finding  the  annoyance  con- 
tinue, turned  her  head  round  and  faced  it.  It  was  so 
closely  wound  about  with  black  riband  from  the  roots  of 
the  hair  to  the  end  where  it  was  fastened  with  a  bow, 
that  its  whole  length,  which  was  about  a  quarter  of  a 
yard,  stood  out  as  compact  and  stiff  as  a  pipestem,  ex- 
cept at  the  end,  which  dwindled  off  to  the  quantity  of 
a  hair-pencil.  Ruth  eyed  it  at  first  with  a  simple,  se- 
rious kind  of  curiosity,  as  it  moved  in  regular  play  with 
the  somewhat  laboured  breathing  of  the  sleeper ;  at 
length  she  ventured  just  to  touch  it  with  her  forefinger. 
At  that  moment  the  farmer,  who  dreamed  that  a  thun- 
der-gust was  rising  over  his  hay-field,  gave  a  perceptible 
start,  and  the  queue  looked  so  living  with  its  sympa- 
thetic jerk,  that  Ruth  withdrew  her  hand  and  resumed 
her  childish  stare.  As  the  dreamer's  thunder-squall 
passed  over,  the  queue  and  Ruth  became  more  com- 
posed. She  raised  her  finger  again,  touched  it  timidly, 
and,  finding  it  harmless,  ventured  to  play  with  its  brush- 
like  end;  then,  with  great  gravity  of  countenance  and 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  71. 

quietness  of  manner,  took  a  full-blown  tulip  from  her 
lap,  and  thrust  the  stem  through  the  black  bow. 

Mrs.  Raymond  was  interrupted  in  a  most  edifying 
induction  of  the  preacher  by  an  irresistible  laugh  in 
the  adjoining  pew,  where  some  children  had  been  be- 
guiling their  own  weariness  by  looking  at  Ruth's  ex- 
periments.  She  followed  their  eyes  to  the  child,  who 
sat  innocently  watching  the  pendulum  movements  of 
the  ornamented  queue. 

Mrs.  Raymond's  situation  was  inexpressibly  awk- 
ward. To  tell  Ruth  to  remove  the  tulip,  or  arise  to 
do  it  herself,  was  equally  embarrassing.  In  vain  did 
she  shake  her  head  and  lift  her  warning  finger  ;  Ruth 
was  too  much  absorbed  to  notice  her,  and  proceeded 
to  add  a  lily  of  the  valley  to  this  novel  flower-vase. 
As  Mrs.  Raymond's  feelings  were  raised  to  actual  ag- 
ony, little  Ruth  fortunately  looked  at  her,  and,  perceiv- 
ing her  mother's  glance  of  despair,  and  thinking  she 
wished  for  the  flowers,  removed  them  with  a  twitch 
that  fairly  awoke  the  sleeper,  and  handed  them  to  her 
with  a  silent  smile. 

When  Ruth  began  to  write,  and  became  the  happy 
owner  of  a  silver  pencil,  her  hymn-book  bore  ample 
testimony  to  her  industry.  When  forbidden  to  draw 
cats  and  faces,  and  particularly  the  farmer's  queue,  she 
began  systematically  to  darken  the  centre  of  every  let- 
ter O  ;  then,  as  her  ideas  expanded,  she  marked  and 
marked  again  her  favourite  hymns  and  verses.  By- 
and-by  she  began  to  commit  them  to  memory  ;  then 
her  voice  was  heard  mingling  faintly  yet  sweetly  with 
the  choir  ;  then  passages  in  the  Bible  arrested  her  at- 
tention ;  then  the  text  was  remembered ;  then  a  glance 
at  her  mother  told  that  some  appeal  in  the  sermon  was 
understood  and  felt ;  and  last,  prayer  brooded  over  her 


72  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

with  holy  wings.  Thus,  from  Sabbath  to  Sabbath,  were 
golden  trains  laid  for  memory  and  hope  ;  mines  which 
were  to  be  worked  by  the  undying  spirit  through  all 
eternity. 

But  Ruth  is  sixteen,  and  is  no  longer  led  up  that 
church-crowned  hill.  Supporting  her  mother's  enfee- 
bled footsteps,  she  enters  reverentially  the  sacred  walls, 
and  treads  the  accustomed  aisle. 

Various  are  the  modes  of  entering  church.  There 
is  the  don't-care  manner,  and  an  easy,  home-like  step, 
which  says  all  places  are  alike  to  me  ;  there  is  the 
conscious  manner,  which  betrays  that  one  is  thinking 
of  human  eyes  instead  of  that  which  searches  hearts  ; 
there  is  the  worldly  manner,  with  the  out-of-door  jest 
or  speculation  lingering  around  the  lips ;  there  is  the 
affected  manner,  lolling  this  side  and  that,  or  mincing 
with  the  feet ;  there  is  the  bravado  manner,  a  holding 
tip  of  the  head,  and  a  swinging  of  the  arms,  with  long 
strides ;  there  is  the  new-dress  manner,  with  all  sorts 
of  consciousness  ;  there  is  the  mourning  manner,  with 
the  eyes  and  heart  cast  down,  God  only  knows  with 
what  degree  of  suffering  ;  there  is  the  bride  manner, 
where  bashfulness  and  pride  alternately  prevail ;  there 
is  the  rapid  or  high-pressure  manner,  which  dashes  on 
with  the  sole  object  of  being  seated  ;  there  is  the  side- 
long  manner,  where  a  glance  is  thrown  and  withdrawn 
on  the  instant ;  there  is  the  inquisitive  manner,  with 
the  look  up  and  about  to  know  who  is  there ;  there  is 
the  languid  manner,  which  determines  not  to  be  in  a 
hurry,  even  if  the  service  has  begun  ;  there  is  the  su. 
percilious  manner,  which  says,  stand  off,  I  am  (not 
holier,  but)  more  fashionable  or  wealthy  than  thou ; 
there  is  the  gracious  manner  (sometimes  political), 
which  wishes  to  be  agreeable  to  everybody  j  there  is 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  73 

the  shuffling  manner,  which  pitches  itself  into  a  pew  as 
it  can ;  there  is  the  fidgeting  manner,  which  cannot 
get  easily  seated  ;  there  is  the  stranger  manner,  which 
looks  about  anxiously,  and  seems  rescued  when  it  at- 
tains accommodation ;  there  is  the  decrepit  manner, 
thinking  only  of  its  own  infirmities  ;  there  is  the  awk- 
ward manner,  which  stumbles  in  the  aisle,  goes  to  the 
wrong  pew,  and  fumbles  at  the  button  on  the  door. 

Ruth's,  my  own  Ruth's,  was  the  serenely  reverential 
manner.  The  church  was  holy  ground  to  her  :  no 
worldly  whispering  desecrated  its  solemn  hour.  That 
hour  was  strictly  God's ;  there  was  enough  beside  for 
the  world,  that  was  for  Him.  If  she  pleaded  for  mer- 
cy, or  rejoiced  in  hope  in  prayer,  no  one  knew,  for  her 
face  was  shaded  from  intrusive  eyes ;  if  her  golden 
notes  mingled  with  the  choir,  she  cared  not  who  heard 
but  Heaven ;  and  when  the  pastor  unfolded  the  will  of 
God,  she  laid  it  meekly  to  her  own  heart  and  was  still. 

Ruth  loved  her  pastor ;  he  had  touched  her  forehead 
with  the  baptismal  element ;  his  explanatory  words 
and  kindly  smile  had  enlightened  her  Sunday  lessons ; 
and,  now  that  her  mind  was  capable  of  reasoning,  she 
listened  in  public  with  attention,  and  communicated 
privately  her  ignorance  and  doubts  to  the  good  old 
man,  who,  though  standing  on  the  confines  of  another 
world,  was  not  chilled  to  this. 

Happy  Ruth,  to  love  your  pastor ;  to  be  able  to  look 
up,  from  year  to  year,  to  eyes  that  beam  kindly  on  you  ; 
to  hear  heavenly  truths  from  lips  endeared  by  sympa- 
thy ;  to  feel  almost  a  partner  in  the  eloquence  that 
thrills  the  hearts  around  you  ;  to  be  taught  immortality, 
the  life  for  ever,  by  one  with  whom  you  could  wish  to 
live  eternally. 

G 


74  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Dresses  of  Heroines  in  Novels. — Heroines  of  Poetry. — Ruth  and  her 
Mantuamaker.— Progress  of  Mind.— Ruth  at  the  Ball.— New  Ac- 
quaintance.—An  Accident. 

PATTERNS  of  white  muslin  for  Ruth's  dress  went  to 
and  fro  with  as  anxious  an  investigation  as  if  the  com- 
pany  at  the  ball  were  to  spy  her  with  microscopes  ;  and 
the  decision  being  made,  Miss  Homefield,  the  best  man- 
tuamaker  in  the  village,  was  rescued  from  among  a 
crowd  of  applicants  to  cut  for  the  important  occasion. 

Novelists  have  taken  great,  pride  in  the  wardrobe  of 
their  heroines.  The  hand  that  Sir  Charles  Grandison 
bowed  over  rested  on  the  richest  brocade  ;  the  Evelinas 
and  Cecilias  were  patterns  of  good  taste ;  and  Miss 
Owenson's  Glorvina  sported  a  gauze  dress  of  "  woven 
air ;"  but  who  remembers  these  things  ? 

Poets,  on  the  contrary,  avoiding  this  minuteness  of 
description,  have,  by  a  few  strong  and  simple  intellect- 
ual touches,  conveyed  the  image  of  their  thoughts  to 
ours  with  a  fidelity  that  stamps  them  at  once  on  our 
memories  ;  so  strongly,  indeed,  that  no  friend  is  more 
near  than  these  creatures  of  the  imagination.  Who 
cannot  see  among  a  thousand, 

"  The  tender  blue"  of  Medora's  "  large,  loving  eye  ?" 
Gulnare  too, 

"That  form  with  eye  so  dark  and  cheek  so  fair, 
And  auburn  waves  of  gemm'd  and  braided  hair, 
With  shape  of  fairy  likeness— naked  foot, 
That  shines  like  snow,  and  falls  on  earth  as  mute." 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  75 

All  the  costumes  of  the  novelist  would  not  bring  Ger. 
trude,  as  Campbell  has  done,  before  us  in  her  loveliness, 
nor  show 

"  Those  eyes  affectionate  and  glad, 
That  seem'd  to  love  whate'er  they  look'd  upon ; 
Whether  with  Hebe's  mirth  her  features  shone, 
Or  if  a  shade  more  pleasing  them  o'ercast, 
As  if  for  heavenly  musing  meant  alone  ; 
Yet  so  becomingly  the  expression  pass'd 
That  each  succeeding  look  was  lovelier  than  the  last." 

Scott,  almost  as  an  exception,  has  entered  into  detail 
in  the  dress  of  the  heroines  of  his  poetry ;  he  had  a 
geographical  mind,  and  loved  to  locate  them ;  Ellen, 
for  instance : 

"  A  chieftain's  daughter  seem'd  the  maid ; 
Her  satin  mood,  her  silken  plaid, 
Her  golden  brooch  such  birth  betray'd ; 
And  seldom  was  a  snood  amid 
Such  wild,  luxuriant  ringlets  hid, 
Whose  glossy  black  to  shame  might  bring 
The  plumage  of  the  raven's  wing. 
And  seldom  ever  breast  so  fair 
Mantled  a  plaid  with  modest  care. 
And  never  brooch  the  folds  combined, 
Above  a  heart  more  good  and  kind." 

Yet,  after  the  snood,  and  brooch,  and  plaid  are  for- 
gotten, we  "  gaze  on  Ellen's  eye." 

Wordsworth  is  singularly  happy  in  making  his  pic- 
tures  stand  out  on  his  poetical  canvass.  Take  any  age. 

The  girl  of  fourteen. 

"  Sweet  Highland  girl,  a  very  shower 
Of  beauty  is  thy  earthly  dower ! 
A  face  with  gladness  overspread ! 
Sweet  looks  by  human  kindness  bred, 
And  seemlmess  complete,  that  sways 
Thy  courtesies,  about  thee  plays." 


76  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

A  maiden. 

"  A  dancing  shape,  an  image  gay, 
To  haunt,  to  startle  and  way-lay." 

Childhood. 

"  Her  eyes  were  fair  and  very  fair, 
Her  beauty  made  me  glad." 

Early  Infancy. 

"  On  thy  face 

y'          Smiles  are  beginning  like  the  beams  of  dawn 
To  shoot  and  circulate — 
Feelers  of  love." 

A  matron. 

"  She  was  a  woman  of  a  steady  mind, 
Tender  and  deep  in  her  excess  of  love ; 
Not  speaking  much,  pleased  rather  with  the  joy 
Of  her  own  thoughts." 

Another. 

"  Graceful  was  her  port ; 
A  lofty  stature,  undepress'd  by  time, 
Whose  visitation  had  not  spared  to  touch 
The  finer  lineaments  of  frame  and  face, 
To  that  complexion  brought  which  prudence  trusts  in,  . 
And  wisdom  loves." 

Milton  felt  no  want  of  a  wardrobe  for  his  "  accom- 
plished Eve  ;"  and,  though  Spenser  clothes  his  delicate 
Una,  in  the  Faery  Queene,  it  is  with  such  rare  simpli- 
city as  to  throw  back  our  thoughts  on  her  intellectual 
purity.  At  first  we  see  her 

"  Under  a  vele  that  wimpled  was  full  low, 
And  over  all  a  black  stole  did  shee  throw." 

Then 

"  In  secret  shadow,  far  from  all  men's  sight, 
From  her  fayre  head  her  fillet  she  undight, 
And  lay'd  her  stole  aside.  Her  angel  face 
As  the  great  eye  of  heaven  shyned  bright, 
And  made  a  sunshine  in  the  shady  place." 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.          77 
Then, 

"  Fair  and  fresh  as  freshest  flower  in  May, 
And  on  her  now  a  garment  did  she  weare, 
All  lily-white,  withouten  spot  or  pride." 

Perhaps  the  best,  though  an  unconscious  satire  on 
over-dressing  a  heroine,  may  be  found  in  the  descrip. 
tion  of  a  ballroom  attire  in  a  novel  entitled  "  A  Sum- 
mer  at  Weymouth." 

**  Sir  Edward  sent  to  let  the  ladies  know  that  he  was 
in  the  drawing-room,  and  hoped  they  were  ready  ;  and 
the  business  of  the  toilet  being  completed,  they  descend, 
ed  immediately.  Mrs.  Moreland  led  the  countess  to 
the  admiral,  who  was  in  his  naval  uniform,  with  a  su- 
perb diamond  star,  being  a  Knight  of  the  Bath  ;  he  sa- 
luted his  niece,  and  admired  the  delicate  taste  displayed 
in  her  dress,  which  was  white  thin  satin,  covered  with 
British  lace,  the  train  and  drapery  of  the  same,  made 
with  beautiful  borders  expressly  for  the  purpose ; 
wreathed  with  hawthorn  blossoms,  and  looped  up  with 
braids  of  riband-grass,  which  also  formed  knots,  con. 
fining  small  bouquets  of  violets,  primroses,  lilies  of  the 
valley,  and  wild  roses ;  full  lace  sleeves  were  drawn  up 
with  small  wreaths  of  riband-grass  and  violets,  over 
armlets  of  rubies  and  emeralds,  forming  a  chain,  each 
link  fastened  with  a  single  brilliant ;  a  corresponding 
chain  formed  the  cestus,  and  ornamented  the  dress  be- 
neath  a  full  tucker  of  lace,  which,  with  her  lappets,  was 
also  made  in  Great  Britain ;  her  hair,  in  tasteful  puff's 
and  ringlets,  was  encircled  by  a  wreath  of  jessamine, 
in  brilliants  and  emeralds,  tied  on  the  left  side  with  a 
knot  of  brilliants,  which  confined  three  white  feathers ; 
necklace,  earrings,  and  shoe-bows  of  diamonds,  com- 
G  2 


78  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

pleted  her  dress,  which  was  neat,  elegant,  and  becom. 
ing." 

But  all  this  time  Ruth  is  standing  before  her  mantua- 
maker,  with  the  folds  of  her  white  muslin  flowing 
about  her  youthful  form.  What  different  associations 
are  called  up  by  that  simple  manufacture?  It  is  the 
first  ornamental  dress  of  girls  ;  it  is  gathered  around 
the  widow's  face,  shading  her  sorrowing  eyes ;  and  it 
lies  on  the  cold  corpse,  covering  the  altered  lip  and 
brow,  while  the  hand  that  slowly  raises  it  starts  as  its 
moving  folds  give  seeming  motion  to  the  dead. 

But  Ruth  moralized  not  on  white  muslin. 

M  What  is  the  last  fashion  for  dresses,  Miss  Home- 
field  ?"  said  she  to  the  demure-looking  personage  be- 
fore her. 

"  We  does  not  be  governed  by  any  particular  fash- 
ion,"  replied  Miss  Homefield,  with  a  subdued  air. 
"  We  studies  the  expression.  There  is  a  great  deal, 
Miss  Raymond,"  she  continued,  with  solemnity,  clip- 
ping  with  the  scissors  so  closely  to  Ruth's  neck  that  she 
winced,  "  there  is  a  great  deal  in  adopting  the  cut  to 
the  figur.  Yours,  I  should  say,"  and  she  glanced  on 
Ruth's  mantling  cheek,  "  is  elegant  bloom." 

Ruth  looked  meekly  at  the  careering  scissors,  and 
then  triumphantly  at  her  mirror. 

u  You  seem  to  have  quite  a  considerable  collection 
of  books,"  said  Miss  Homefield,  just  darting  up  her 
eyes,  without  pausing  in  her  occupation.  Have  you 
read  (a  little  to  the  right,  if  you  please)  a  work  that's 
out  about  the  Missouri  lands  ?  Now  it's  my  notion  (a 
pin,  I  thank  you)  that  the  lands  should  be  drained  (this 
is  the  Grecian  fold,  miss)  before  they  are  dressed. 
Books,  Miss  Raymond  (we  will  put  this  fold  a  little 
lower  on  the  bust),  is  great  enlighteners." 


LOVE'S   PEOGEESS.  79 

Much  to  Ruth's  surprise,  her  frock  sat  exquisitely, 
and  the  expression  designed  to  be  elegant  bloom  satis- 
fied  her  highly.  The  pure  white  of  the  muslin  certain, 
ly  contrasted  well  with  her  glowing  cheeks  and  lustrous 
eyes.  A  girl  never  looks  prettier  than  with  a  mantua- 
maker,  sideling  and  glancing,  advancing  and  retreat- 
ing,  half  in  jest,  half  in  earnest,  conscious  of  newness 
without  the  temptation  to  display.  ' 

The  long-expected  evening  came,  and  Ruth,  com. 
tnitted  to  the  especial  care  of  Dr.  Gesner,  on  account 
of  the  indisposition  of  her  mother,  joined  Isabel  and  her 
parents.  Oh  that  long  interval  after  dressing,  waiting 
the  silly  call  of  fashion,  when  playfulness  is  exhausted, 
when  the  hour  for  rest  comes  on  without  repose,  and 
even  hope  is  tired  of  hoping  !  Ruth  and  Isabel  fairly 
yawned  in  each  other's  faces,  until  the  carriage  wheels 
roused  them,  and  they  sprang  up  like  awakened  stat- 
ues. 

Ruth  kissed  her  father  with  tenderness,  and  lingered 
for  a  moment  to  catch  her  mother's  smile,  for  well  she 
knew  their  thoughts  would  follow  her :  and  she  sighed 
as  she  returned  once  more  to  press  her  mother's  cheek, 
that  it  looked  so  pale,  and  that  the  parental  eye  could 
not  watch  her  still. 

The  resources  of  the  village  had  been  exhausted  to 
meet  this  yearly  ball ;  and  the  managers,  finding  the 
tavern  hall  too  small  for  their  purpose,  had  arranged  a 
vacant  barn  for  the  reception  of  their  guests.  The 
flooring  was  planed  and  chalked,  the  walls  hung  with 
evergreens  from  the  woods,  flowers  from  greenhouses, 
and  variegated  lamps  from  the  city.  An  illuminated 
arch  at  the  entrance  dazzled  Ruth  by  its  unexpected 
brilliancy,  and  prevented  her  noticing  the  manager,  who 


80  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

advanced,  and,  detaching  her  from  Dr.  Gesner,  offered 
her  his  arm  and  conducted  her  across  the  building. 

"  Beautiful,  beautiful,"  exclaimed  Ruth,  in  the  admi- 
ration of  the  moment,  as  the  tasteful  and  brilliant  ar- 
rangement burst  upon  her.  "  Who  did  it  all  ?" 

«  The  managers  must  divide  the  credit,"  said  her 
conductor. 

Ruth  started,  and  looked  up  quickly.  Their  eyes 
met  with  a  sudden,  delicious  understanding,  and  she 
blushed  so  deeply,  that  Miss  Homefield's  intended  ex- 
pression  qf  "  elegant  bloom"  was  lost ;  she  ought  to 
have  been  dressed  like  a  milkmaid. 

"  You  walked  with  me  to  the  funeral,"  said  Ruth 
with  her  characteristic  quickness,  as  the  blush  passed 
away.  "  How  strange  !" 

"  You  walked  with  me  to  the  funeral,"  said  the  young 
man.  "  How  delightful  !** 

"  I  just  wish  to  guess  one  thing,"  said  Ruth,  with 
irrepressible  earnestness  ;  "  are  you  not  Alfred  Clar- 
endon?" 

"  I  am,"  said  the  gentleman,  smiling.  "  Will  Miss 
Raymond  allow  me  the  pleasure  of  dancing  with  her 
in  the  first  set  ?" 

Ruth  acquiesced,  and  he  left  her  for  his  duties  as 
manager. 

"  I  told  mamma  so,"  she  said,  almost  clapping  her 
hands  as  she  turned  to  Isabel ;  "  I  told  mamma  his 
name  was  Clarendon !" 

The  set  was  called.  Ruth  had  practised  a  good 
deal  for  this  ball,  and  her  mirror  had  seen  some  antics 
she  would  not  have  betrayed  to  other  spectators.  She 
meant  to  balancer  this  way,  and  dos-a-dos  that  way, 
and  hold  her  arms  so,  and  her  head  so ;  but  the 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  81 

first  burst  of  the  band  dispersed  all  affectation.  She 
gave  herself  up  to  the  impulses  of  the  moment,  to  the 
fascination  of  sight  and  sound  ;  and  the  joy  woulS  have 
been  almost  frolic  had  it  not  been  restrained  by  natu- 
ral dignity.  There  was  none  of  the  fastidiousness  of 
fashion  about  her  ;  whatever  seemed  to  be  worth  en- 
joying,  she  enjoyed  ;  and,  like  an  unforced  plant,  turn- 
ed  her  branches  to  the  sunshine. 

Ruth  was  introduced  in  form  to  William  White. 
She  threw  herself  back  daintily,  and  he  bowed  frigid, 
ly,  and  they  stood  opposite  each  other  in  the  cotillon 
with  a  grave  and  conscious  air,  until,  as  Ruth  turned 
him  in  the  dance,  a  sudden  impulse  came  over  her,  and 
in  a  low  but  distinct  tone,  with  her  eyes  raised  roguish- 
ly and  then  cast  down,  she  said  "  mew !" 

The  effect  was  irresistible  ;  not  to  laugh  was  to  die 
of  convulsions ;  the  barrier  of  reserve  was  thrown 
down,  and  they  were  no  longer  strangers.  This  is  the 
peculiar  charm  of  frankness,  when  modified  by  pure 
and  chaste  manners,  that  it  calls  mind  in  contact  with 
mind,  and  does  the  work  of  years  ;  but  what  Ruth 
gained  with  William  White  she  lost  with  the  two  Miss 
Longworths  in  pink  satin,  who  asserted  the  next  day 
that  Miss  Raymond  ridiculed  them  publicly. 

Clarendon  again  sought  Ruth's  hand  in  the  dance. 
He  trod  the  measure  gracefully  enough,  but  it  was  in 
his  moments  of  repose  that  he  was  the  favourite  part- 
ner ;  here  Ruth,  as  he  led  the  way,  found  herself  on 
higher  ground  than  she  had  ever  attained  before.  Ef. 
forts  at  reasoning,  unstudied  criticism,  and  the  kinder 
lore  of  the  affections,  fell  from  her  unconsciously;  yet 
demands  from  another  quarter  on  her  good-nature  were 
equally  successful,  and  she  often  stopped  good  Dr.  Ges. 


82  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

ner  in  a  yawn  like  the  opening  of  a  crater  as  he  stood 
near,  until  he  roused  himself,  and  watched  her  motions 
as  he  would  those  of  a  grasshopper,  calling  her  his 
papilio,  a  favourite  epithet  since  their  race  by  the  riv- 
er-side. !;;» 

And  now  the  social  hilarity  of  the  scene  reached  its 
height  in  a  Pendleton  reel,  when,  as  the  band  poured 
forth  its  fullest  tones,  and  almost  the  whole  company 
were  in  motion,  glancing  like  winged  birds  from  side 
to  side,  a  crash  was  heard  ;  the  foundation  gave  way, 
the  floor  sank,  and  the  dancers  after  it.  There  went 
the  Miss  Longworths'  pink  satins,  Miss  Kidman's 
five  ostrich  feathers,  Miss  Halway's  bird  of  paradise 
plume,  Miss  Abie's  blond  cape,  and  Miss  Notable's  imi- 
tation ;  and  Ruth  went  too,  bursting  off  in  her  descent 
the  hooks  and  eyes  from  Miss  Homefield's  "  elegant 
bloom  expression."  The  first  consciousness  that  she 
possessed  was  that  she  was  sitting  on  a  soft  but  firm 
substance,  and  a  guttural  sound  announed  to  her  that 
she  was  making  an  unintentional  divan  of  Dr.  Ges. 
ner's  body.  j 

"  Oh,  dear  Dr.  Gesner,  is  it  you  ?"  said  Ruth,  pa- 
thetically. 

"  Ees,  my  papilio.  Sit  easy,  if  you  please,  and  ask 
one  gentleman,  for  the  loves  of  Heaven,  to  take  himself 
off  of  my  leichdom,  what  you  call  corn  on  se  toe." 

The  various  involuntary  actors  in  this  scene  rose 
slowly,  their  gallant  array  sadly  broken.  Ruth  un- 
hitched a  bunch  of  Miss  Longworth's  false  curls  from 
Dr.  Gesner's  button,  and  brushed  his  soiled  coat  with 
her  handkerchief,  while  he  gradually  recovered  his 
short  and  husky  breathing.  As  she  stood  thus  forget- 
ting herself  in  bringing  him  to  good-humour,  Clareu- 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  83 

don  passed,  and  hurriedly  asked  leave  to  inquire  after 
her  health  to-morrow ;  while  William  White,  with 
jest  and  laughter,  escorted  her  home. 

When  Ruth  reached  the  door  of  her  home,  she  check- 
ed  the  laugh  upon  her  lips,  and  entered  with  tiptoe 
steps,  fearing  to  disturb  the  repose  of  her  parents  ;  but 
their  vigilant  thoughts  were  upon  her,  and  the  call  of 
"  Ruth,  Ruth,"  as  she  passed  their  door,  purposely  left 
open,  arrested  her.  Her  father  met  her  with  a  kind 
smile  and  a  surprised  look  at  her  brilliant  disarray. 
Entering  her  mother's  apartment,  she  sat  by  the  bed- 
side, and,  throwing  her  arms  about  her,  told  them  the 
joys  and  mishaps  of  the  evening.  Nothing  is  lovelier 
than  the  sweet  temper  of  a  weary  girl,  who,  after  an 
entertainment,  or,  perchance,  disappointment,  is  over, 
returns  and  throws  the  light  of  good-humour  on  her 
home ;  the  triumphs  of  beauty  or  of  genius  fade  away 
before  this  charm  ;  but  when  they  are  all  united,  the 
parent  may  well  gaze  with  the  subdued  worship  of  a 
loving  heart  on  his  child.  And  Ruth  was  indeed  love- 
lier as  she  poured  out  her  feelings,  her  mother's  hand 
in  hers,  her  red  cheek  resting  on  her  mother's  pillow, 
than  when  sparkling  and  graceful  she  glided  amid  the 
dance.  Their  blessing  followed  her  to  her  apartment. 
And  there  Ruth  composed  her  busy  thoughts  to  life's 
more  holy  aims.  She  had  never  yet  neglected  to  offer 
her  nightly  prayers,  and  now  they  seemed  to  bear  her 
fluttered  spirit  to  sleep  with  a  blessing. 
C  2 


84  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

The  Morning  Slumberer.— The  Cape  Ann  Housemaid.— The  Mom- 
ing-call.— Sunday-school  Project.— The  Farmer  and  his  Wife.— 
The  Intemperate.— The  Poor  and  Suffering. 

THE  morning  sun  shone  brightly,  but  unheeded, 
through  Ruth's  curtains  ;  her  young  sister  caressed 
her  with  her  usual  endearments,  but  the  twining  arm 
and  playful  kiss  were  unfelt ;  her  brothers  rushed  to 
the  door,  shouting,  "  Ruth,  sister  Ruth,  wake  up  and 
tell  us  about  the  ball ;"  but  she  slept  on  ;  her  mother 
came  with  her  soft  tread  and  looked  in  upon  her. 
The  girl's  breathing  was  so  tranquil,  her  look  of  re- 
pose so  deep,  such  an  utter  absence  of  life's  cares 
dwelt  on  her,  that  she  had  not  the  heart  to  wake  her ; 
so,  just  touching  her  roselike  cheek  with  her  lips,  and 
smoothing  away  the  dishevelled  hair  from  her  neck, 
she  sighed  softly,  whispered  "  sleep  on,  poor  child,"  and 
descended  to  the  breakfast-room.  An  hour  passed 
away,  and  Bridget  the  housemaid  was  sent  to  rouse 
the  slumberer. 

"  You're  a  pretty  one,  Miss  Ruth,"  said  Bridget,  as 
she  went  clumping  into  the  room  with  her  leather  shoes, 
and  laid  her  rough  hand  on  Ruth's  shoulder,  "  to  be 
knocked  up  by  one  night's  jigging.  I  reckon  you'd 
be  up  to  a  thing  or  two  more  if  you'd  been  bred  down 
at  Cape  Ann.  The  gals  there  used  to  dance  the  dou- 
ble  shuffle  till  two  in  the  mornin,  and  at  sunrise  were 
singin  over  their  brooms  and  washtubs  like  thrushes. 
I  was  the  gal,  Miss  Ruth,"  continued  Bridget,  with  in- 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  85 

creasing  animation,  putting  her  arms  akimbo  as  she 
saw  the  corner  of  Ruth's  eye  open,  "  for  keeping  up 
the  reel.  I  cut  in  and  out  like  mad ;  Jim  Barnstable 
swore  I  beat  all ;  the  more  shame  that  he  went  and 
courted  Sal  Capers.  She  caper !  she  was  just  made 
for  mincing  a  minuet.  A  mean  feller  he  to  be  puttin 
on  his  ball-clothes  the  mornin  after  the  frolic  at  Cap- 
tin  Wright's  barn,  and  com  in  and  taikin  an  hour  to  me 
as  if  his  mouth  was'  sweetened  with  molasses,  and  then 
to  go  and  court  Sal  Capers." 

Bridget  had  touched  a  very  important  string  in 
Ruth's  associations.  She  too  was  to  receive  visiters, 
whose  discourse  would,  perhaps,  flow  with  diviner  nee. 
tar  than  Jim  Barnstable's  ;  and,  raising  herself  on  her 
pillow,  the  print  of  which  marked  her  soft  cheek,  she 
asked  the  hour. 

Ruth  had  once  detested  morning  calls.  It  seemed 
hard  to  her  to  set  aside  her  interesting  occupations, 
and  give  herself  up  to  the  commonplaces  of  that  talk 
which  is  not  long  enough  to  elicit  ideas,  and  yet  of 
sufficient  duration  to  break  up  most  valuable  portions 
of  time.  But  the  graceful  sweetness  of  her  nature  had 
taught  her  to  study  the  happiness  of  others  in  this  usu- 
ally heartless  ceremony.  She  had  learned  from  her 
mother  to  employ  herself  in  some  light  work,  which, 
while  it  was  a  kind  of  rallying-point  for  conversation, 
could  be  thrown  aside  at  pleasure.  If  she  were  em- 
barrassed,  her  eyes  found  rest  upon  her  busy  fingers ; 
and  if  her  guests  were  dull,  their  very  motion  seemed 
a  help.  But  Ruth  gave  no  heed  to  her  sewing  this 
day  ;  for,  by  the  time  that  her  truant  hair  was  smoothed 
to  glossiness,  and  her  breakfast  hastily  despatched,  she 
heard  the  gate  shut  to  with  its  well-known  swing,  and 
H 


86  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

saw  her  two  partners  advancing  up  the  foot-path  to  the 
house. 

There  was,  indeed,  no  need  of  the  needle  to  be- 
guile  that  hour ;  her  birds,  her  flowers,  her  books,  her 
songs,  and,  most  of  all,  her  laughter  over  the  events  of 
the  past  night,  inspired  her  guests  with  confidence. 
Frank  and  unselfish  as  Ruth  was,  she  might  have  been 
charged  with  coquetry  by  those  who  did  not  understand 
her.  The  desire  to  please,  springing,  as  it  did,  from 
the  best  fountains  of  the  heart,  leads  to  results  like  co- 
quetry ;  while  her  mother  feared  to  check  her  too  anx- 
iously, lest,  by  chilling  her  confidence  in  others,  she 
should  create  an  unnatural  self-observation  and  reserve. 

"  Which  of  those  two  young  men  do  you  like  best, 
mamma  ?"  said  Ruth,  as  she  stood  at  the  window,  and 
heard  the  closing  swing  of  the  gate,  and  saw  their  re- 
treating  forms. 

"  Your  emphasis  implies  that  you  have  made  up  your 
mind  about  the  matter,"  said  her  mother,  smiling. 
Ruth  blushed  and  protested.  There  was  a  pause,  and 
Mrs.  Raymond  changed  the  conversation. 

"  Your  enjoyment  last  night,  and  the  excitement  of 
new  scenes,"  said  she,  "  must  not  prevent  your  stud- 
ying  to  be  useful.  I  have  been  called  upon  by  some 
ladies  this  morning  to  aid  them  in  getting  up  a  Sun- 
day-school.  The  office  assigned  me  is  to  apply  to 
those  who  can  afford  it,  to  give  subscriptions  to  pur- 
chase  clothing  and  books  for  the  poor  scholars,  and  to 
the  indigent  to  send  their  children  to  be  instructed. 
My  health  is  failing,  dear,  and  I  must  make  you  my 
substitute  in  this  benevolent  project." 

"  Me,  mamma  !"  exclaimed  Ruth.     "  What  can  I 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  87 

say  ?  I  shall  be  so  frightened  if  they  look  cross  at 
me." 

"  You  must  think  of  your  duty,  and  that  will  strength, 
en  you.  You  will  have  harder  duties,  Ruth,  to  bear 
when  I  am  gone." 

Ruth  looked  at  her  mother.  There  was  a  paleness 
on  her  face  that  made  her  tremble.  She  threw  herself 
on  a  low  seat  beside  her,  and  hid  her  face  in  her  lap. 
A  dread  came  over  her  that  sickened  her  very  heart, 
and  she  could  not  speak.  Mrs.  Raymond  changed  the 
current  of  her  thoughts  by  entering  into  an  explana- 
tion of  the  project,  and  the  part  Ruth  was  to  sustain. 

"  Rouse  yourself,  my  daughter,"  she  said,  affection- 
ately. "  You  must  begin  your  expedition  immediate. 
]y,  and  the  pure  air  will  do  you  good.  Reflect  on  all 
I  have  taught  you,  and  call  up  your  own  thoughts  on 
the  way." 

Ruth  went  up  stairs  and  mechanically  tied  on  her 
bonnet.  Mrs.  Fry  would  never  have  claimed  her  as  a 
votary  of  philanthrophy.  Ruth  thought  only  of  her 
mother  ;  but  there  is  something  in  nature,  in  the  blue 
heavens,  and  the  stirring  impulses  of  a  frosty  air,  con- 
genial to  the  young.  As  her  feet  crushed  the  frozen 
snow,  she  threw  care  to  the  winds ;  and  when  she  heard 
the  gate  fall  to  behind  her,  her  step  quickened  and  her 
eye  brightened.  She  began  to  reflect  on  her  mission, 
and  bent  her  steps  to  farmer  Morefield's,  about  half 
a  mile  distant.  The  family  were  just  at  dinner,  and 
the  farmer,  wiping  the  cider  from  his  mouth,  asked  the 
young  lady  to  take  a  bite.  Ruth  declined  ;  but  having 
once  entered  on  her  task,  her  ardent  character  support- 
ed her,  and  she  said,  though  with  considerable  tremour 
in  her  voice, 


88  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

"  The  ladies  of  the  village  are  anxious  to  have  a 
Sunday-school.  Should  you  like  to  subscribe  and  send 
your  children  ?" 

"  I  will  answer  about  the  money  part,"  said  the  farm, 
er,  good-naturedly,  "  but  my  old  woman  will  tell  you 
about  the  children." 

Ruth  took  out  her  subscription  paper  ;  it  was  mod. 
est  enough  ;  one  dollar  per  year,  and  such  donations  as 
the  liberal  could  afford.  The  farmer  gave  her  a  dol- 
lar. 

Ruth  looked  at  the  lady,  who  was  just  pulling  a  huge 
bone  from  the  mouth  of  one  of  the  expected  catechu- 
mens. 

"  Will  it  be  agreeable  to  you  to  send  your  children 
to  church  next  Sunday,  at  nine  o'clock  ?"  she  said. 
"  The  ladies  will  take  great  pleasure  in  teaching  them.'* 

"  I  don't  think,  Mr.  Morefield,"  replied  the  lady,  with, 
out  looking  at  Ruth,  and  swallowing  hastily  a  spoonful 
of  broth,  "  that  we've  quite  come  to  charity  yet.  It's 
a  pity  if  we  can't  keep  our  heads  above  water  a  leeite 
longer !" 

Ruth  was  half  tempted  to  get  up  and  run  ;  but  she 
rallied  herself,  and  tried  to  speak. 

"  Don't  be  in  a  passion,  wife,"  said  the  farmer ;  "  let's 
hear  the  young  lady.  If  it's  a  charity  business,  miss, 
we  reckon  ourselves  as  well  to  live  as  anybody." 

Ruth  began  with  tremour,  but  soon  went  on  quietly 
to  tell  the  objects  of  the  Sunday-school ;  the  motives  of 
teachers  ;  the  aid  to  parents  ;  the  pleasure  to  children. 
Warming  with  her  subject,  she  related,  from  her  past 
reading,  one  or  two  anecdotes  of  youths,  whose  souls, 
under  this  religious  teaching,  had  been  taught  the  up- 
ward  way.  "  My  own  little  brothers  and  sisters  will 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  89 

all  attend  our  school,"  continued  Ruth,  beginning  to  feel 
the  spirit  of  prosleytism. 

"  Do  let  us  go.  We  want  to  go,"  said  two  or  three 
of  the  childish  group,  who  had  been  listening  attentive- 
ly  to  Ruth's  sweet  voice,  and  now  pressed  round  their 
mother.  "  Be  still,  you !"  said  the  mother.  "  If  it 
isn't  charity,  you  may  go  and  welcome  ;  and,  husband, 
you  mought  as  well  give  another  dollar  to  help  the 
young  woman  out  with  her  business." 

Ruth's  eyes  glistened  with  something  like  a  tear  as 
she  perceived  this  reaction,  and,  taking  the  dollar  grate- 
fully,  she  went  her  way  with  airy  footsteps.  The  bar- 
berry bushes  and  straggling  sweet-brier  seemed  cloth- 
ed with  beauty,  and  in  the  lightness  of  her  heart  she 
sang  the  song  she  loved. 

The  next  building  in  sight  was  a  farmhouse  also, 
but  the  aspect  of  all  things  around  was  negligent.  The 
owner  appeared  to  be  trying  to  repair,  in  a  rough  way, 
an  aperture  in  the  wall,  to  prevent  the  encroachment 
of  cattle  on  his  premises. 

Ruth  went  up  to  him  timidly.  "  Will  you  allow  me, 
sir,"  she  said,  "  to  say  a  few  words  to  you  and  your 
family  ?"  The  man  looked  at  her  hardly,  and  she  saw 
the  stamp  of  intemperance  in  his  bloodshot  eyes. 

"  I  don't  care  if  you  do,"  was  his  gruff  reply,  ad- 
vancing, as  he  spoke,  before  her,  with  a  tottering  step, 
to  his  residence.  His  wife  was  at  the  washtub,  while 
several  clamorous  children  were  hushed  at  the  sight  of 
a  stranger. 

"  Suke,"  said  the  farmer,  "  this  young  miss  wants  to 
speak  to  us !"  The  woman  wrung  the  water  from  her 
hands,  and  handed  a  low  stool  to  Ruth,  who  sat  down. 

Ruth  saw,  by  an  air  of  patient  sufferance  on  her  face, 
H  2 


90  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

that  she  was  not  the  person  to  apply  to,  and,  turning  to 
the  farmer,  said, 

"  Several  ladies  wish  the  children  of  our  village  to 
join  in  a  Sunday  class.  They  are  to  assemble  at  the 
meeting-house  before  the  service  begins,  and  learn  the 
Bible  and  hymns.  Will  you  allow  yours  to  go  ?" 

"  You  may  put  my  children  in  the  meetin-house  or 
behind  it,"  said  the  farmer,  roughly.  "I  give  'em 
clothes  and  victuals,  and  that's  enough." 

Ruth  shuddered  ;  the  graveyard  was  behind  the 
church  ;  but  seeing  the  drooping,  imploring- looking 
woman,  for  her  sake  she  took  courage  and  said, 

"  You  cannot  be  serious,  sir.  These  children  want 
something  more  than  food  and  clothing ;  they  are  God's 
children  as  well  as  yours." 

"  God  may  take  care  of  them  and  be ,"  said  the 

farmer,  fiercely. 

The  woman  started  with  almost  a  cry,  and  Ruth  saw, 
with  horror,  that  the  case  was  hopeless.  She  turned 
to  the  children,  who  had  resumed  their  play,  and  asked 
a  bright-looking  boy  if  he  would  not  like  to  go  to  meet- 
ing, and  see  all  the  little  boys  and  girls  every  Sunday 
morning,  and  learn  about  God. 

"  I  don't  care  if  I  do,  if  sister  Nance  goes,"  said  the 
boy,  scraping  the  wall  in  various  fanciful  patterns  with 
a  rusty  nail. 

"  Will  you  go,  little  Nancy  ?"  asked  Ruth,  following 
the  direction  of  the  boy's  look  to  a  pretty-eyed  girl, 
whose  matted  curls  fell  over  cheeks  ruddy  with  health. 
"  You  shall  have  a  nice  frock  and  bonnet  to  wear  on 
Sundays,"  she  added,  in  a  whisper. 

"  I'll  go  if  Dick  wants  me  to,"  said  the  girl,  with  an 
attempt  at  a  courtesy. 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  91 

The  father  had  gone  back  to  his  work,  and  the  moth- 
er's  eye  brightened. 

"  Dick  and  Nancy  are  willing  to  attend  the  school," 
said  Ruth  to  the  woman  ;  "  J  am  sure  you  will  not  ob- 
ject." 

"  No,  God  Almighty  bless  you,  miss,"  said  she,  "  but 
they  have  no  clothes,  and  poor  Hartley's  earnings  will 
not  buy  them  any."  She  did  not  hint  that  poor  Hart- 
ley's  earnings  were  spent  at  the  tavern. 

"  I  will  dress  them  every  Sunday  if  you  will  send 
them  to  me,"  said  Ruth.  "  Pray  let  them  come.  You 
must  send  them  very  early  ;  teachers  and  scholars  must 
be  punctual,"  added  she,  turning  with  a  smile  to  the 
children. 

Dick,  however,  heard  not ;  his  rusty  nail  had  created 
a  ship  on  the  wainscoat,  masts,  and  sails,  and  all,  and 
Nancy  was  admiring  it  with  her  eyes  and  mouth  open, 
i  Ruth  bade  farewell  to  this  little  group,  and  was 
cheered  on  by  the  aid  and  gratitude  of  three  thriving 
families  whom  she  visited  in  succession. 

Proceeding  on  her  way,  she  saw  a  miserable  hovel. 
Ruth  had  never  entered  the  abodes  of  the  really  poor, 
and  shrank  dismayed.  The  fences  were  all  appropri- 
ated for  firewood,  a  ragged  hat  filled  one  of  the  broken 
panes  of  glass,  and  the  accumulated  dirt  at  the  door- 
step was  so  forbidding,  that  she  was  about  turning  aside 
from  the  entangled  path,  when  the  pale  face  of  a  child 
appeared  at  the  door,  and  she  remembered  her  mission. 
The  child  drew  back  as  she  caught  the  eye  of  a  stran- 
ger, while  Ruth  advanced,  and  tapped  gently  and  mod- 
estly on  the  swinging  door.  A  noble  heart  feels  more 
deep  humility  in  approaching  such  a  scene  than  at  the 
entrance  of  palaces. 

"Come  in,"  said  a  youthful  voice. 


92  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

Ruth  entered,  and  the  little  girl,  whose  face  she  had 
seen  peeping  from  the  door,  stood,  half  screening  her- 
self  amid  some  ragged  bedding,  where  a  man  lay  in  the 
hard  breathing  of  disease. 

"Hush,  father's  asleep,"  whispered  the  little  girl, 
"  and  mother  says  he  mustn't  be  waked  up  till  she  comes 
back,  'cause  he  cries  just  like  a  baby  when  she  ain't 
here." 

Ruth  beckoned  to  the  little  girl  with  a  sympathizing 
look,  and  she  issued  shyly  from  her  hiding-place. 

**  What  is  the  matter  with  your  father  ?"  whispered 
Ruth. 

"  I  don't  know,  miss  ;  only  he  can't  walk  about,  nor 
lift  up  his  arms,  and  he  don't  act  like  a  man,  but  takes 
on  like  a  baby." 

Ruth  knew  too  little  of  disease  to  recognise  one  of 
the  stages  of  paralysis  in  this  description. 

"  I  should  like  to  help  your  poor  father,"  said  Ruth, 
in  a  very  pitying  tone,  for  her  heart  was  stirred  up 
within  her.  "  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

"  I  should  like  a  bit  of  bread,"  said  the  child,  "  'cause 
mammy  stays  so  long."  The  provident  care  of  Mrs. 
Raymond  had  filled  Ruth's  bag  with  biscuits  for  her 
long  ramble,  and  she  hastily  extended  some  to  the 
hungry  child. 

"  Will  your  father  be  displeased  to  see  me  here  if 
he  wakes  ?"  said  Ruth. 

"No,"  replied  the  child  ;  " he  does  not  mind  any- 
body  but  mammy  and  me." 

"  What  is  your  name  ?"  asked  Ruth. 

"  Susan,"  was  the  answer. 

"  I  will  be  a  friend  to  you,  Susan,  if  you  will  be  a 
good  girl.  A  great  many  little  boys  and  girls  are 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  93 

going  to  meet  together,  and  read  the  Bible  and  leara 
hymns.  Should  you  like  to  join  them  every  Sunday 
morning  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid  to  go  anywhere  without  mammy,"  said 
Susan. 

Ruth  glanced  round  the  miserable  hut,  and  wondered 
what  protection  the  poor  little  girl  could  feel  there. 

At  that  moment  an  almost  inarticulate  sound  issued 
from  the  bed. 

"  Wife,"  at  last  said  the  sick  man,  with  effort,  his 
hands  shaking  with  the  disease. 

Susan  ran  to  him,  and  said  soothingly,  "Mammy's 
just  stepped  out  to  buy  some  bread  ;  she  will  be  back 
in  a  minute,  father." 

"  She's  gone  and  left  me  again,"  mumbled  the  poor 
sufferer,  in  imperfect  tones,  and  then  burst  into  hys- 
terical  sobs  and  tears. 

Susan  stood  by  helplessly,  saying,  "  Don't  cry,  fa- 
ther,  don't.  Mammy  will  be  here  directly."  Then, 
wiping  the  tears  on  his  face  with  the  tattered  sheet,  she 
said  in  his  ear,  "  Don't  cry,  father,  the  pretty  lady  is 
looking  at  you." 

Ruth  could  bear  it  no  longer ;  she  rushed  into  the 
open  air,  exclaiming  involuntarily,  in  the  language  of 
Scripture, "  Merciful  heaven  !  I  have  bread  enough  and 
to  spare,  and  they  perish  with  hunger  !" 


94  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Ruth's  Reflection;  at  Home.— More  Experiences  of  Human  Nature. 
— The  Sunday-school  Opens. — Ruth  Compensated. 

RTJTH  walked  droopingly  along  the  dreary  outlet  to 
the  road.  The  landscape  had  lost  its  charm,  and  the 
sun  looked  dim  as  she  glanced  back  on  the  poor 
dwelling,  where  Susan  was  wiping  the  tears  from  the 
cheeks  of  her  imbecile  parent.  Collecting  her  thoughts, 
she  returned  through  a  by-path  home,  and  poured  out 
her  full  heart  to  her  mother.  There  was  a  fitfulness 
of  manner  unusual  to  her  as  she  retired  that  night  to 
her  tasteful  and  tranquil  bedroom.  She  felt  almost  a 
jealousy  of  her  Own  comforts,  and  sighed  often,  "  Poor, 
poor  Susan !"  Her  garments  were  cast  aside  unfold, 
ed,  and  no  glance  was  thrown  at  the  mirror  to  ask  if 
her  pretty  nightcap  sat  becomingly.  Before  reading 
her  Bible,  she  sat  abstractedly  on  a  low  seat  by  the 
bedside.  At  length  she  opened  its  leaves.  Her  read- 
ing  was  systematic,  and  the  appointed  passages  were 
in  the  Old  Testament,  in  the  abstruser  parts  of  prophe- 
cy. Poor  Ruth  read  on  blindly,  no  sympathetic  cord 
touching  her  heart,  which  was  so  fully  strung  to  soft 
emotions.  She  did  not  throw  the  book  aside,  for  it 
was  her  Bible,  but  she  laid  it  down  with  another  sigh. 
Again  she  took  it  listlessly,  and  her  eyes  fell  on  those 
touching  passages  in  St.  John's  gospel,  where  our  Sa- 
viour speaks  of  his  own  sufferings.  She  read  on. 
"  There  must  be  a  deep  meaning  in  sorrow,"  thought 
she, "  if  he  suffered,"  and  she  laid  her  head  musingly  on 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  95 

her  pillow.  That  day  had  unfolded  a  fresh  leaf  in  her 
heart's  history ;  it  was  no  longer  an  impaled  butterfly 
that  moved  her  sympathy  ;  a  new  love  stirred  her  af- 
fections, the  love  of  her  suffering  fellow-creatures. 
Then  followed  hopes  and  resolutions  for  their  happi- 
ness ;  and,  falling  asleep,  she  saw  poor  Susan  in  her 
dreams,  no  longer  the  pale,  sad  child  of  penury,  but 
clothed  in  white  robes  and  treading  heavenly  bowers. 

Ruth  rose  in  the  morning  refreshed  in  spirit,  and, 
followed  by  a  domestic  with  comforts  for  the  sick  and 
food  for  the  hungry,  visited  again  Susan's  abode.  The 
child,  won  over  by  her  kindness,  promised  to  attend 
the  Sabbath-school ;  and  Ruth  appointed  the  old  school- 
house  as  a  place  of  rendezvous  for  those  who  were  to 
accompany  her  home,  to  be  measured  for  their  new 
dresses  that  day.  Her  success  in  the  more  populous 
parts  of  the  village  was  fluctuating ;  but  jealousy  and 
coldness  were  the  predominant  feelings,  until  the 
warmth  of  her  own  manner  conquered  them,  and 
brought  out  the  latent  tenderness  which  lies  in  every 
heart  where  the  right  depth  is  sounded.  Almost  in- 
variably the  women  referred  her  to  their  husbands  for 
the  dollar.  The  disciples  of  the  Female  Liberty- 
school  may  sneer  at  this  very  marked  feature  in  our 
domestic  manners,  well-known  by  those  who  have  so- 
licited subscriptions,  but  to  me  there  is  nothing  ridic- 
ulous about  it ;  it  implies  sympathy  in  conjugal  life  ;  it 
checks  the  too  great  tendency  to  overflow  in  female  be- 
nevolence, and  aids  economy ;  for  if  a  woman  discusses 
one  dollar  with  her  husband,  she  will  have  some  insight 
into  his  hundreds. 

Entering  one  house,  Ruth  saw  a  woman  of  plain, 
quiet  manners,  with  two  children,  and  unfolded  her  ob- 


96  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

ject  in  visiting  her.  She  was  answered  by  warm  and 
pious  sympathy,  and  not  only  sympathy  in  words,  but 
the  woman,  with  a  tear  in  her  eye,  handed  her  a  ten- 
dollar  note,  wishing  blessings  on  the  cause.  Ruth  was 
fairly  startled ;  scarcely  able  to  utter  her  thanks  in  her 
delighted  surprise,  she  wrapped  the  treasure  up  with 
care,  and  went  to  the  old  schoolhouse  where  the  chil- 
dren were  to  assemble  to  accompany  her  home.  A 
goodly  number  were  there,  but  such  a  looking  crew  ! 
Poor  Ruth,  in  ordering  the  line  of  march,  could  only 
distinguish  them  as  the  little  girl  with  the  ragged  apron, 
or  the  boy  without  the  hat,  or  her  with  the  toes  out  at 
her  shoes,  or  him  without  any  shoes.  Little  Susan 
she  took  by  the  hand.  Utterly  forgetful  of  the  appear, 
ance  she  must  make  with  this  "  ragged  regiment,"  she 
proceeded  homeward,  talking  with  Susan  as  freely  as 
if  it  had  been  Isabel  by  her  side,  until  she  was  recalled 
to  the  circumstance  by  the  appearance  of  two  gentle- 
men on  the  road.  Ruth  looked  back  with  some  dis- 
may ;  two  of  her  proteges  were  snowballing  each  other, 
and  the  blood,  streaming  from  the  nose  of  one  of  these 
knights-errant,  testified  to  the  prowess  of  his  opponent. 
Two  others,  very  little  girls,  had  rambled  off  to  gather 
some  lingering  apples  in  an  open  orchard ;  and  Susan, 
beginning  to  be  home-sick  and  frightened,  put  her 
apron  to  her  eyes  to  wipe  away  the  tears.  Ruth,  at 
her  wits'  end,  scarcely  knew  whether  to  divide  the  com- 
batants, or  reclaim  the  wanderers,  or  sooth  Susan.  In 
the  midst  of  her  embarrassments,  Clarendon  and  Wil- 
liam drew  near.  Ruth  wavered  a  moment,  and  would 
willingly  have  screened  herself  by  a  neighbouring  tree, 
and  allowed  them  to  pass  ;  but  her  frank  good-humour 
conquered.  Greeting  them  modestly,  she  told  her  sim- 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  97 

pie  perplexities  and  asked  their  aid.  This  was,  in  re- 
ality,  but  a  picturesque  spectacle,  contrasted  as  the 
beautiful  and  graceful  Ruth  was  with  these  children  of 
poverty.  But  Ruth  and  the  young  men  had  human 
weaknesses  ;  and,  when  one  or  two  carriages  rolled  by, 
they  shrunk  back,  or  raised  a  compliment  of  forced 
laughter,  or  waved  off  the  little  group  to  a  wider  dis- 
tance ;  still,  in  spite  of  its  singularity,  the  scene  had 
its  charms  for  the  new  actors*  The  embarrassment 
of  Ruth  was  not  awkward  ;  her  sunny  temper  broke 
out  even  more  gayly  amid  the  strong  contrasts  about 
her  ;  and  the  aspect  of  one  so  young  and  fair,  employed 
in  a  work  of  love  for  poor  humanity,  told  a  tale  that 
went  down  deep  into  the  hearts  of  the  two  warm-soul- 
ed  youths,  who  aided  her  in  marshalling  her  restless 
retinue,  and,  by  promises  of  cake  and  sugar-plums, 
stimulated  their  erratic  movements. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Ruth,  with  a  rather  consequential 
air,  before  a  committee  which  met  for  the  purpose  of 
arranging  the  school  on  the  following  morning,  "  do 
you  not  think  the  ladies  should  return  a  vote  of  thanks 
to  Mrs.  Bedloe  for  the  ten  dollars  she  gave  me  1" 

"  Certainly,  Ruth,"  said  her  mother  ;  and  Ruth  was 
requested  by  the  committee  to  write  and  send  it. 

She  sat  down  and  bit  the  end  of  her  pen.  "  What 
a  miserable  cold  thing  a  letter  of  thanks  is,"  she  thought, 
"  when  one's  heart  is  full !  I  wish  they  would  let  me 
run  down  the  lane  and  thank  her." 

The  note  at  length  was  written,  and  submitted  in 
form  ;  its  ardency  suppressed,  moulded  to  a  committee 
dignity,  and  sent.  The  messenger  soon  returned  with 
the  reply  that  the  house  was  unoccupied,  and  Mrs.  Bed- 
loe  had  left  town. 

I 


98  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

Ruth  burst  into  raptures.  "  How  disinterested  ! 
No  common  mind,"  she  said,  "  would  have  given  thus 
without  any  prospect  of  a  return.  Mamma,"  she 
said,  growing  sentimental,  "  such  charity  is  like  the 
sun,  which  throws  his  careless  beams  on  every  little 
flower  ;  and  to  think  that  I  was  the  medium  of  this  be- 
nevolence !" 

As  Ruth  thus  vented  her  feelings,  Mr.  Raymond, 
•who  had  been  absent,  entered.  Springing  towards  him, 
she  narrated  the  circumstance,  and  showed  him  the 
ten-dollar  note. 

"  The  rascals  !"  exclaimed  her  father,  "  Bedloe  is  a 
forger,  and  absconded  last  night.  Tear  up  the  bill, 
child,  it  is  good  for  nothing  !" 

Ruth  sank  into  a  chair  speechless  as  that  first  les- 
son of  depravity  was  discovered,  then  she  wept,  then 
grew  indignant. 

"  I  will  not  subject  myself  to  such  impositions  again," 
she  said,  angrily.  "  I  shall  never  think  well  of  human 
nature  after  this.  That  cold,  heartless,  smiling,  syco- 
phantic wretch  of  a  woman,  I  wish  she  was  obliged 
to  eat  the  bill,"  she  continued,  as  she  tore  it  in  pieces. 

Fortunately  for  Ruth,  her  time  was  busily  occupied 
in  making  the  Sunday  garments  for  the  children  ;  and, 
before  the  week  was  closed,  she  observed  so  much  qui- 
et good  feeling  and  Christian  kindness  among  the  la- 
dies with  whom  she  was  associated  as  to  reconcile  her 
to  human  nature  again. 

Sunday  was  a  proud  day  for  Ruth.  The  "  ragged 
regiment"  was  converted  into  a  respectable  procession. 
It  is  true  she  laboured  more  over  the  physical  than 
moral  purity  of  her  protege's ;  but  perhaps  she  was  jus. 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  09 

tified  by  scripture,  which  recommends  "  clean  hands" 
before  a  "  pure  heart." 

The  old  pastor  delivered  a  touching  discourse  on  the 
opening  of  the  Sabbath-school.  He  praised  and  bless- 
ed the  zeal  of  modern  Christians,  who  identify  the  reli- 
gious interests  of  youth  with  their  own,  and  he  called 
upon  the  little  children  to  be  ready  to  join  him  in  the 
great  school  of  Heaven,  where,  if  they  were  all  good, 
they  would  be  pupils  in  God's  everlasting  lessons  of 
love  with  him. 

A  hymn  was  then  sung,  and  the  children  who  could 
be  taught  in  so  short  a  space  joined  their  "  small 
voice ;"  then  a  contribution  was  announced  to  be  re- 
ceived,  and  four  teachers  took  each  by  the  hand  a  lit- 
tie  scholar,  who,  with  a  small  basket,  advanced  to  the 
several  pews.  Ruth  led  Susan,  and  earnestly  pushed 
forward  her  little  hand,  forgetting  the  publicity  of  the 
scene  in  her  sympathy  with  the  child.  It  was  difficult 
not  to  give  those  two  more  than  one  meant  to.  Ruth, 
trembling,  sparkling,  glowing,  pleaded  with  her  lus- 
trous innocent  eyes,  while  the  blue  orbs  of  the  pale- 
faced  girl  were  upturned  only  to  her. 

As  Ruth  was  counting  her  treasure  as  soon  after  the 
benediction  as  decency  allowed,  her  eyes  fell  on  a  bright 
gold  piece  ;  it  was  ten  dollars,  and  no  forgery  !  Ruth's 
memory  told  her  when  a  metallic  sound  unlike  the  rest 
was  heard  over  the  little  basket. 


100  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

The    Sleigh-ride.— An  Overturn.— Excitement.—  William  a  Rich 
Man.— An  Offer  of  Marriage. 

MANY  a  cheek  glowed  and  many  an  eye  glistened 
as  sleigh  after  sleigh  stopped  with  jingling  bells  one 
fine  evening  at  Mr.  Raymond's  gate  for  a  moonlight 
ride.  Ruth,  wrapped  in  her  furs,  stood  ready,  and 
sprang  into  that  which  was  occupied  by  Doctor  Gesner 
and  Isabel.  William,  who  held  the  reins,  extended  his 
hand,  and  gently  but  forcibly  drew  her  to  the  seat  be- 
side him,  while  Clarendon  wrapped  her  in  the  buffalo 
skin,  placed  the  heated  bricks  at  her  feet,  and  took  his 
seat  with  Isabel  and  the  doctor  behind  them. 

The  order  was  given,  and  the  jocund  train  passed 
on,  skimming  the  sheeted  road  like  birds. 

There  was  not  a  cloud  in  the  sky ;  the  magnificent 
moon  trod  her  unimpeded  way,  a  very  queen,  shower. 
ing  down  a  flood  of  radiance,  kindling  up  the  meanest 
things  with  order  and  loveliness,  and  harmonizing  ev- 
ery  snow-clad  bough  and  blade  as  they  quivered  dia- 
mond-like in  the  sea  of  light.  The  river,  bound  in 
frost,  lay  still ;  the  rustle  of  the  trees  was  still ;  man 
and  beast  were  still ;  all  was  silence  save  the  song  and 
laugh  that  went  up  from  that  glancing  group.  Silvery 
and  sweet  it  rose  on  the  quiet  air,  and  the  moon,  as 
she  listened  in  her  complacent  love,  looked  down  on 
the  light-hearted  ones  with  such  a  ray  as  bewitched 
Endymion. 

A  sleigh-ride  offers  many  opportunities  for  gentle 
courtesies.  William,  who  was  oceans  deep  in  love, 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  101 

felt  his  naturally  gay  humour  soften  down  to  a  worship, 
ping  tenderness.  The  moonlight  was  doubly  fair  to 
him,  because  it  dwelt  on  Ruth,  and  gave  a  halo-bright- 
ness to  her  beaming  face  as  she  sat  beside  him. 

"  Do  you  remember,  Miss  Raymond,"  he  whisper- 
ed,  "  our  first  interviews  ?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Ruth,  laughing,  "  we  were  at  op- 
posite sides  of  the  street ;  a  very  pleasant  kind  of  in- 
tercourse with  some  people." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Raymond,"  said  the  youth,  falteringly, 
"  trifle  not  when  all  around  is  so  earnest  and  real. 
Flatter  me  with  seriousness,  and  leave  jest  for  daylight 
and  the  world." 

Ruth  was  confused  by  his  earnestness  ;  and,  as  he 
leaned  towards  her  to  catch  her  reply,  it  was  not  sur- 
prising that  he  should  guide  his  horses  on  a  tremen- 
dous snowdrift,  and  upset  his  precious  cargo,  while  the 
steeds  passed  on  at  an  easy  gallop.  Dr.  Gesner  was 
the  first  to  roll  out,  and  incontinently  descend  to  the 
foot  of  the  hill,  where  he  slowly  rose  with  unintelligible 
gutturals,  and  stood  square  and  stiff  like  a  snowman 
made  by  schoolboys.  Isabel  had  been  aided  by  a  gen- 
tleman who  sprang  from  the  sleigh  behind.  Claren- 
don offered  no  assistance  to  Ruth  ;  he  stood  at  a  little 
distance,  with  folded  arms,  in  silence  ;  a  change  had 
passed  over  his  spirit.  William  was  near  her.  His 
heart  throbbed  as  he  drew  her  hand  within  his  arm ; 
and  as  he  poured  out  his  wild  poetic  rhapsodies,  Ruth 
forgot  that  good  Doctor  Gesner  was  hobbling  towards 
them,  and  that  Clarendon  was  walking  musingly  alone. 
She  was  agitated  and  almost  alarmed.  Was  it  love 
that  made  her  tremble  and  be  silent,  or  the  novelty  of 
inspiring  love  ? 

.12 


102  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

When  Ruth  reached  home,  she  retreated  to  her 
own  apartment,  and  trod  the  floor  again  and  again  in 
j»very. 

"  He  said  he  was  poor,"  she  murmured.  "  Can 
there  be  poverty  where  there  is  such  wealth  of  mind 
and  heart  ?  And  is  it  possible  that  7,  with  a  word,  a 
look,  can  make  him  happy  ?  Poor  William  !  I  hope 
he  will  be  happy." 

The  next  morning,  as  she  sat  at  work  with  her 
mother,  a  letter  was  brought  her,  which  she  hastily 
unfolded.  Mrs.  Raymond  looked  up  from  her  sewing ; 
tears  were  rolling  down  Ruth's  cheeks  ;  but  scarcely 
had  they  fallen  before  a  shout  of  laughter  followed, 
and  Ruth  absolutely  hid  her  face  on  the  table  to  hide 
her  hysterical  convulsions,  as  she  handed  her  the  fol- 
lowing lines. 

"  Miss  Raymond, 

"  Was  I  right  in  the  indications  of  last  evening  ? 
Am  I  beloved  ?  Then  I  had  no  authority  to  ask  the 
question,  I  was  a  poor  man  struggling  for  an  honour- 
able livelihood.  Now  I  have  wealth,  but  what  is  wealth 
if  the  affections  are  poor  ?  Even  at  this  moment,  when 
a  sudden  reverse  of  fortune  has  made  me  affluent,  I  feel 
that  one  answered  pulsation  from  your  heart  would  be 
worth  a  thousand  worlds.  You  will  think  me  dream- 
ing. It  seems  to  me  almost  that  I  am.  Heaven  knows 
that  I  shall  wish  I  were  without  your  smiles.  Listen 
to  me,  and  answer ;  yet  oh  delay,  if  the  answer  be  not 
what  my  soul  alone  sighs  for.  On  returning  from  our 
excursion  last  evening,  I  found  a  letter  from  the  exec 
utor  of  my  maternal  uncle,  who  has  died,  leaving  me 
an  immense  fortune  on  the  easy  condition  that  I  take 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  103 

his  name.  How  can  I  show  my  devotion  better  than 
by  laying  this  wealth  at  your  feet  ?  Take  it,  dearest 
Miss  Raymond,  with  a  heart  that  beats  only  to  serve 
you,  a  hand  whose  only  pride  will  be  to  protect  you  ; 
and  which,  though  no  longer  using  the  signature  of 
William  White,  is  equally  yours  as 

"  WILLIAM  PIPE." 

Ruth  peeped  through  her  fingers  at  her  mother,  who 
vainly  attempted  to  preserve  her  gravity. 

"  I  am  a  fool,  mamma,  I  know  I  am,"  said  Ruth, 
struggling  with  her  risible  tendencies,  and  wiping  her 
tears  at  the  same  time,  "  to  be  such  a  victim  of  the  lu- 
dicrous. I  had  no  sooner  read  that  name,  than  the 
idea  of  Mrs.  Ruth  Pipe  came  into  my  head  and  choked 
me  with  laughter.  I  am  afraid  I  was  a  little  in  love 
with  William  last  night,  he  was  so  eloquent  and  yet  so 
delicate ;  but  I  am  cured.  It  could  not  have  been  love 
either,  because,"  and  here  she  burst  into  renewed 
laughter,  "  because,  if  I  really  had  loved — '  a  rose  by 
any  other  name,'  &c. — you  know,  mamma." 

The  hardest  task  Ruth  ever  performed  was  to  write 
a  serious  answer  to  that  letter ;  and,  when  it  was  fin- 
ished,  Mrs.  Raymond  perceived  that  she  had  listlessly 
scribbled  on  a  blank  sheet  of  paper,  in  the  interim  of 
writing  each  sentence,  "  Ruth  Pipe  !"  «  Mrs.  Ruth 
Pipe  !" 

Ruth  was  not  in  love. 


104  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Ruth's  Grotto.— A  Sister's  Love.— New  Sensations. 

WINTER  has  passed  away.  The  last  mimic  ava- 
lanche has  glided  down  the  mountains,  and  the  little 
rills  fall  at  their  feet,  whose  exhalations,  tinged  with 
countless  hues  of  beauty,  rise  up  and  roll  off  amid  ce- 
rulean depths.  A  bird,  Ruth  thinks  it  is  the  same 
that  has  greeted  her  for  three  years,  sings  on  her  ap- 
ple-tree  bough  near  the  wall.  Ruth  is  thoughtful  with 
joy,  to  see  the  snowdrop  that  peers  up  in  smiles  amid 
the  waste  of  her  garden.  You  remember  the  rustic 
bridge  leading  to  the  mill,  where  she  chased  the  but- 
terfly.  Ruth  hastened  thither  with  her  youngest  sis- 
ter, to  see  what  nature  had  done  there.  The  stream 
•was  flowing  merrily,  blades  of  grass  were  springing, 
and  the  rush  of  waters  on  the  mill -wheel  brought 
back,  as  sounds  so  often  do,  sweet  memories.  Near 
the  bridge,  a  semicircular  rock  made,  and  concealed 
too,  what  Ruth  called  her  grotto.  A  maple-tree  slant- 
ed from  the  river  bank  above  it,  and  shrubbery,  rising 
below  and  around,  shut  out  its  interior  from  the  very 
few  wanderers  who  chanced  to  visit  her  father's 
grounds.  Here  she  had  floated  her  mimic  boats — 
poor,  girlish  efforts — chips  with  riband  sails  ;  here  she 
had  brought  her  dolls,  placing  Miss  Beauty  on  the  soft- 
est moss,  and  made  for  the  inanimate  group  an  enter- 
tainment of  mud  puddings.  As  time  advanced,  she 
found  this  spot  still  more  favourable  than  her  apple- 
tree-seat  to  study  and  to  music  ;  now  she  sought  it  for 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  105 

reflection.  The  dry  leaves,  whirled  to  the  enclosure 
by  autumnal  winds,  were  piled  up  within  ;  and,  placing 
her  little  sister  on  a  stone  at  the  entrance,  too  high  for 
her  to  reach  herself,  she  began  gathering  them  up  in 
her  hands,  and  throwing  them  into  the  river.  Little 
Rosalie  quietly  watched  her  sister's  busy  motions,  and 
murmuring  something  like  a  tune,  kept  time  by  knock- 
ing  her  suspended  feet  against  the  stone,  while  Ruth, 
as  she  passed  from  distributing  her  gathered  leaves, 
stole  a  kiss  from  the  child's  white  forehead. 

Her  labour  was  nearly  completed,  when,  as  she 
stooped  to  gather  up  the  leaves  in  the  farthest  recess, 
her  hand  touched  something  cold,  and  a  large  black- 
snake  reared  itself  almost  to  her  very  face  ;  then  rapid- 
ly sinking  and  retreating,  coiled  itself  near  a  shrub, 
where  a  bed  of  withered  leaves  yet  remained  between 
herself  and  Rosalie.  Unconscious  of  the  vicinity  of 
the  reptile,  the  child  kept  on  singing  her  broken  snatch- 
es of  infantile  tunes  until  startled  by  Ruth's  sudden  cry 
of  alarm. 

"Run,  Rosalie,  run  away!"  she  exclaimed,  fearing 
to  move,  lest  the  reptile  should  glide  towards  the  child. 

Rosalie  looked  wonderingly  at  her  sister,  but  moved 
not. 

"  Go,  dear  little  sister !  go  away,  go  away,  Rosalie, 
for  God's  sake !"  and  Ruth's  voice  rose  to  a  shriek  of 
terror,  for  she  dreaded  that  the  snake,  though  fearful 
of  man,  might  attack  the  child.  Rosalie  extended  her 
arms  to  her  sister  and  ceased  her  song.  Ruth  looked 
round  for  some  offensive  weapon  ;  none  presented  itself; 
the  slight  shrubbery  that  sprang  about  the  fissures  of 
the  rock  was  all  that  met  her  eye ;  at  length  one  object 
arrested  her  attention.  At  a  jutting  point  of  the  rock 


106  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

above  the  serpent,  she  saw  a  loose  fragment  of  stone ; 
and,  deliberately  calculating  its  distance  from  Rosalie, 
without  thinking  of  her  own  risk,  she  decided  to  attempt 
the  ascent  and  throw  it  down.  Love  led  her  on.  With 
a  motion  as  soft  as  that  around  the  bed  of  a  dear  slum- 
berer,  she  unfastened  her  slippers  from  her  feet,  and 
clinging,  with  an  almost  convulsive  grasp,  to  the  first 
slight  projection,  sprang  to  a  broader  ledge.  Rosalie 
resumed  her  song.  Ruth  looked  up  in  doubt;  the 
maple  leaned  just  above  her  ;  one  single  step  more,  and 
she  could  reach  it  with  her  hand  ;  but  there  was  no  step  ; 
she  must  spring  up  towards  it,  or  lose  her  only  hope. 
Rosalie  still  sang,  and  her  sweet,  happy  notes  nerved  a 
sister's  love.  Planting  her  foot  firmly  on  the  ledge, 
she  leaped  upward;  the  maple  branch  was  attained 
with  one  hand ;  a  vibratory  swing  brought  her  body 
against  the  top  of  the  rock  ;  she  bent  one  instant  upon 
it,  then,  with  a  spasmodic  effort,  threw  herself  above. 
Panting,  she  looked  below.  The  snake,  disturbed  by 
the  rustling,  began  to  uncoil.  Rosalie  sang  on.  Ruth 
hastened  to  the  rocky  fragment,  looked  once  more  cau- 
tiously below,  then  thrust  both  hands  against  it.  It  fel). 
Ruth  closed  her  eyes  dizzily.  She  had  never  harmed 
a  fly  before,  life  was  so  dear  to  her.  She  did  not  look 
again,  but  hastened  down  the  river  bank  to  the  entrance 
of  her  grotto.  The  stone  had  fallen  surely.  A  part 
of  the  mangled  reptile  quivered  in  sight.  Rosalie, 
frightened  and  wondering,  held  out  her  arms  to  Ruth, 
who  took  the  child  in  her  own,  nor  spake  a  word,  nor 
gave  her  one  caress,  until  she  had  passed  out  of  sight 
of  the  rock  ;  then  kissing  her  with  tumultuous  joy,  she 
threw  herself  on  the  ground  as  weak  as  infancy. 
That  spot,  sacred  before  to  Ruth,  became  doubly  so 


LOVE'S   PROGRESS.  107 

now ;  but  it  was  several  days  before  she  had  courage 
to  visit  it,  and  then  with  a  thoughtful,  grateful  heart,  she 
•went  and  paused  at  the  entrance.  But  what  a  change ! 
the  withered  leaves  of  autumn  were  all  carefully  re- 
moved  ;  beautiful  mosses  decorated  the  rough  interior ; 
and  a  bouquet  of  greenhouse  flowers  was  thrown  on 
her  favourite  seat.  She  searched  busily  around ;  to 
common  eyes,  no  sign  appeared  to  tell  the  author  of 
this  delicate  and  graceful  tribute  to  her  feelings ;  but 
as  she  gazed  in  silence,  a  rich  blush  rose  mantling  on 
her  cheek ;  on  and  on  it  went,  over  forehead,  and  neck, 
and  arms ;  a  smile  dimpled  round  her  mouth ;  a  sigh, 
full,  soft,  and  blissful,  rushed  up  from  her  heart's  depths ; 
a  dewy  brightness  glittered  on  her  eyes.  She  took  the 
flowers  in  her  hand,  and  a  thrill  from  their  odorous 
beauty  stole  through  her  frame.  She  pressed  them  to 
her  lips,  she  murmured  a  name  amid  their  leaves. 
There  was  no  witness,  no  listener ;  the  secret  of  that 
throbbing  heart  was  all  its  own. 


108  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Delicate  Positions.— Ruth's  Character  unfolds.— Glimpses  into 
Hearts. 

"  YOTT  have  been  so  eloquent  about  this  law.case  of 
your  father's,  that  I  almost  wish  it  was  yours,  and,  more 
than  that,  I  wish  I  were  a  man  to  hear  it,"  said  Ruth 
Raymond,  as  Clarendon  and  herself  leaned  on  the  low 
railing  of  the  foot-bridge,  alternately  looking  up,  as  the 
sun,  wrapped  in  gorgeous  drapery,  rolled  to  the  west, 
and  downward  on  the  reflected  image  of  the  heavens  in 
the  stream.  Every  object  was  as  clearly  defined  below 
as  above ;  the  shading  of  every  leaf  on  the  bending 
trees,  the  moss  on  the  rocks,  the  slightest  cloud,  were 
all  brought  to  the  lower  picture  with  an  almost  startling 
distinctness. 

"  If  I  am  called  upon,  I  shall  pray  as  to  a  patron 
saint,"  said  Clarendon,  "for  such  inspiration  as  you 
could  give." 

Two  thirds  of  the  power  of  this  remark  lay  in  its 
emphasis  ;  and  Ruth,  who  usually  looked  full  in  the  face 
of  those  who  addressed  her,  found  occasion  to  watch 
intently  some  rose-leaves  which  she  had  torn  to  pieces 
and  thrown  into  the  stream. 

"  Poor  rose-leaves  !"  murmured  Clarendon,  in  a  tone 
that,  in  the  stillness,  just  reached  her  ear  as  she  bowed 
over  the  railing ;  "  Ruth  Raymond  throws  you  away  !' 

Clarendon  could  not  see  her  face,  for  her  hair  fell 
about  her  cheek  and  shaded  it ;  so  he  bent  over  the  rail- 
ing,  and  Ruth  became  conscious  that  he  was  gazing  in 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  109 

the  glassy  surface  below,  to  see  her  image  reflected 
there. 

"  You  need  not  pity  the  rose-leaves,"  she  said,  care- 
lessly,  "  for  they  have  found  a  nice  Ruth  Raymond  in 
the  water ;  and  look,  Mr.  Clarendon !  the  reflection 
of  that  dark  purple  cloud  is  an  exact  likeness  of  old 
Dr.  Gesner  too ;  his  capacious  mouth,  his  huge  shoul- 
ders, with  a  supplementary  ornament  of  farmer  Mans- 
field's  queue  by  way  of  finish  !" 

The  words  that  had  been  welling  up  from  Clarendon's 
heart  of  hearts  were  thrust  back  ;  he  surrendered  his 
earnest,  truthful  mood  with  a  sigh,  and  the  hope  of  re- 
newing  a  subject  to  which  Ruth's  ardent  expression  of 
interest  in  his  success  had  given  rise,  was  crushed  by 
the  appearance  of  Dr.  Gesner,  no  shadow. 

"Why  is  that  young  man  idling  here?"  said  Mr. 
Raymond,  who  approached  as  Clarendon  departed. 

"  You  do  him  great  injustice,  papa,"  said  Ruth,  indig- 
nantly. "  He  has  been  preparing  himself  for  several 
weeks  to  assist  his  infirm  father  as  junior  counsel  in  the 
case  of  Leeds  and  Whittesby." 

"  And  he  comes  to  read  law  in  your  eyes,  Ruth,  eh  ?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Ruth,  very  gravely ;  "  Mr.  Clarendon 
has  not  been  to  the  village  for  two  weeks  ;  and  he  came 
to-day,  after  a  bewildering  examination  into  legal  ref- 
erences, exhausted  by  midnight  study,  with  the  hope 
that  the  sight  of  calm  and  beautiful  nature  might  re- 
fresh him.  He  trembles  for  his  father's  reputation, 
since  the  old  gentleman  persists  in  conducting  the  case 
himself,  and,  besides,  is  agitated  at  the  prospect  of  his 
first  effort.  He  could  not  have  had  a  more  inspiring 
evening  than  this,"  continued  Ruth,  glad  to  escape  to 
the  portico,  where  the  long  twilight  glimmered  through 


110  LOVE'S   PROGRESS. 

the  tree-tops,  while  fantastic  shapes  were  revealed  in 
the  shrubbery  below.  Tempted  by  the  scene,  she 
strayed  down  the  gravel-walk,  and  gave  herself  up  to 
a  rapturous  adoration  of  nature. 

Keeping  the  parlour  lights  in  view,  she  went  no  far- 
ther than  her  apple-tree  bough.  Singing  to  herself, 
and  looking  upward,  to  see  star  after  star  marshalled 
above,  she  was  disturbed  by  hearing  some  one  leap  the 
wall.  She  started,  but  without  alarm.  It  might  be 
the  gardener,  and  she  simply  asked  who  was  there. 

"  It  is  I,"  said  Clarendon,  with  some  embarrassment. 
"  As  I  was  about  to  enter  the  boat,  the  young  moon 
stood  so  serene  and  quiet  among  the  hill-tops,  that  I 
could  not  resist  asking  you  to  see  it  with  me ;  so  I  took 
the  shortest  path  back,  and,  hearing  your  voice,  sprang 
over  the  wall." 

Ruth's  heart  fluttered  like  a  frightened  bird ;  but  she 
rallied  herself,  and  said  quietly, 

"  The  moon  has  behaved  as  all  discreet  ladies  ought, 
and  gone  to  rest ;  and  let  me  tell  you  a  secret,  Mr. 
Clarendon.  I  have  been  obliged  to  defend  you  against 
a  charge  of  idleness  with  all  my  dignity  since  your  de- 
parture, and  used  up  a  part  of  the  eloquent  speech  you 
made  me  about  recreating  your  overtasked  mind 
among  the  works  of  nature.  What  excuse  shall  I 
give  for  this  romantic  movement  ?"  and,  as  she  spoke, 
she  turned  towards  the  house. 

"  I  scarcely  know  or  care,"  said  Clarendon,  throw- 
ing himself  on  the  mound  by  her  side,  and  gently  de- 
taining her  scarf.  "  Believe  me,  that,  for  the  last  fort- 
night, my  imagination  amid  the  drudgery  of  the  office 
has  revelled  only  in  halls  of  legislation.  I  have  been 
grappling  with  gigantic  shadows,  while  the  wish  for 


LOVE'S   PROGRESS.  Ill 

usefulness  and  fame  was  paramount  to  every  other  de- 
sire. I  did  come  here,  in  truth,  to  be  soothed  and  re- 
freshed  by  nature,  after  undue  excitement ;  but  one  look 
of  yours,  an  unconscious  look  too,  changed  my  whole 
being.  Ruth,  Miss  Raymond,  if  I  could  see  once  more 
the  expression  that  was  reflected  in  the  stream  this 
evening !  Oh  for  one  ray  of  light  to  tell  me  if  it  is 
now  the  same." 

There  was  no  light  to  tell  whether  those  intellectual 
eyes  were  softened  to  tenderness,  whether  even  tears 
did  not  stand  on  their  fringed  lids  ;  no  light  to  tell  if  a 
dimpling  smile  of  conscious  triumph  mocked  the  tears  ; 
and  what  if  the  silken  scarf  which  Clarendon  held  flut- 
tered more  than  it  was  wont  over  that  young  bosom  ? 
Was  not  the  western  wind  at  work  amid  its  folds  ? 

Ruth  had  an  innate  sense  of  propriety,  that  invaria- 
bly pointed  the  right  way  in  action,  though  her  words 
might  sometimes  too  much  overflow.  Gentle  but  firm 
was  her  voice  as  she  answered, 

"  This  'is  not  the  hour  or  place,  Mr.  Clarendon,  for 
expressions  like  yours.  The  appearance  of  a  clandes- 
tine meeting  is  revolting  to  me.  Besides,  you  are  ca- 
pricious to-night.  At  sunset  the  law  was  your  lady- 
love, next  the  new  moon  crazed  you,  and  now  you  are 
looking  in  the  dark  for  an  expression  that  went  under 
the  mill  with  the  tide  an  hour  ago.  Good-night ;  a 
sunshiny  day  and  a  righteous  judge  for  your  cause." 

Clarendon's  was  that  first,  timid,  doubting  love  which 
a  word  can  repulse.  He  retreated  in  silence,  but  Ruth 
knew  that  he  pressed  the  fringe  of  her  scarf  to  his  lips 
as  she  drew  it  from  him.  She  heard  him  leap  the  wall, 
and  felt  dizzy  and  faint  as  she  retraced  her  steps  on 
the  gravelled  walk.  Seated  in  the  parlour,  sights  and 


112  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

sounds  seemed  floating  about  her  like  visions.  Once 
or  twice  it  appeared  to  her  that  soft  music  was  near 
her;  the  other  members  of  the  circle,  however,  only 
heard  Dr.  Gesner,  who  was  overcome  by  a  long  chase 
after  a  dragon-fly,  snore. 

Clarendon  drew  a  long  breath,  stood  erect,  looked 
up  to  the  stars,  and,  like  a  good  ship  after  a  lee-lurch, 
righted  himself  and  darted  on  his  way.  It  was  rare 
that  he  gave  himself  up  to  impulse  ;  and,  after  a  rapid 
walk,  he  began  to  fear  that  he  had  been  extra-sentiment- 
al,  to  go  two  miles  to  ask  a  young  lady  to  see  a  moon 
which  was  setting  among  the  hilltops,  to  say  nothing 
of  looking  in  her  eyes  in  the  dark  for  an  expression 
he  had  seen  in  the  water,  the  most  distorting  and  ex- 
aggerating  of  elements.  He  diligently  renewed  his 
studies  on  the  morrow ;  and,  if  he  sometimes  looked  up 
from  a  brief,  as  a  haunting  smile,  a  floating  curl,  a 
happy  footstep,  or  a  thrilling  tone  came  on  his  memo- 
ry, who  shall  blame  him,  since  he  often  said  to  himself, 
"  She  is  guileless  ;  she  is  a  respectful,  tender  child ;  a 
considerate  sister,  a  bright,  warm-hearted  companion  ; 
her  hopes  are  heavenward,  she  is  the  sunshine  of  her 
home !  I  will  do  something  worthy  of  Ruth  Raymond !" 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  118 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Ruth's  Singing.— A  Letter.— The  case  of  Leeds  and  Whittesby.— 
Ruth  Weeps.— A  Denouement  expected. 

"!T  was  fresh  and  laughing  June,"  as  Mrs.  Ray. 
mond,  her  pale  hand  guiding  her  needle,  sat  in  the 
same  shaded  parlour  where  Ruth  whispered  her  first 
juvenile  secrets  ;  and  though  the  bloom  and  elasticity 
of  her  youth  were  gone,  the  grace  of  matronly  dignity, 
a  tenderness  that  looked  with  love  on  a  fading  world, 
was  thrown  around  her.  No  harsh  repining  or  doubt 
impressed  its  tone  on  her  features.  It  seemed  that  as 
the  landscape  of  life  grew  dim,  the  colours  were  soft- 
ened ;  as  the  waters  reached  the  precipice,  they  be- 
came  more  smooth. 

Ruth  entered  with  a  sheet  of  music  paper,  and 
stumbling  over  Perdita,  now  a  patriarch  among  the 
cats,  sat  down  to  the  piano,  laughing  at  her  own  awk- 
wardness. A  very  trifle  often  brings  up  a  long  train 
of  associations,  and  this  laugh  carried  Mrs.  Raymond 
far  back ;  it  was  so  fresh,  and  young,  and  childlike, 
that  she  looked  up  at  Ruth  almost  expecting  to  see  the 
little  form  and  tossing  hair  of  the  rope-skipper  of  sev- 
en ;  but  the  laugh  had  ceased,  and  the  mother  recognised 
in  the  modelled  form,  and  the  chaste  and  elevated  ex- 
pression, her  more  matured  child.  Ruth  was  singing 
"  Here  awa'  there  awa'  wandering  Willie,"  the  exqui- 
site tenderness  of  which  was  suited  perfectly  to  the 
character  of  her  voice.  Mrs.  Raymond's  heart  thrilled, 
K  2 


114  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

and  hex*  eyes  were  moistened,  as,  with  a  distinct,  impas- 
sioned utterance,  almost  like  recitative,  she  sang, 

"  Winter  winds  blew  cauld  and  loud  at  our  parting, 
Fears  for  my  Willie  brought  tears  to  my  e'e  ; 
Welcome  now  simmer,  and  welcome  my  Willie, 
The  simmer  to  nature,  my  Willie  to  me." 

Mrs.  Raymond  had  a  faith  that  voices  would  not  be 
lost.  I  shall  hear  those  tones  again,  she  whispered  to 
herself,  sublimated,  refined,  among  angel  choirs. 

Ruth  was  interrupted  by  a  servant  with  a  large 
packet. 

"  It  is  from  Isabel  at  New-York,  mamma,"  she 
said,  starting  up,  breaking  the  seal.  As  she  glanced 
at  the  first  page,  a  deep  blush  suffused  her  face,  and  she 
stood  embarrassed. 

"  I  should  like  to  read  this  letter  alone,"  she  then 
said,  hurriedly  ;  and  giving  her  mother  a  kind  of  apol- 
ogetic kiss,  ran  quickly  down  the  garden  path  to  her 
grotto. 

The  reader  and  I  can  peep  over  her  shoulder. 

"  In  a  quiet  corner  at  the  end  of  your  double  letter, 
dearest  Ruth,  which  is  filled  with  such  a  glorious  de- 
scription of  your  sunsets,  such  excellent  criticisms  on 
Gibbon,  and  such  valid  arguments  on  the  propriety  of 
young  ladies  studying  logic,  I  find  this  question  :  '  Do 
you  think  Mr.  Clarendon  will  be  called  upon  to  speak 
in  the  Leeds  and  Whittesby  case  ?' 

"  As  this  is  the  only  question  in  your  three  pages, 
I  feel  bound  to  answer  it  at  large. 

"  Clarendon  has  spoken,  and  is  the  lion  of  the  day. 
To  say  the  truth,  I  did  not  expect  he  would  be  a  good 
orator  on  the  nonce,  he  is  so  singularly  quiet,  advances 
his  opinions  with  such  modesty,  and  has  so  little  en- 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  115 

thusiasm  of  character."  (Here  Ruth  smiled  somewhat 
roguishly.)  "  But  father,  who  is  not  easily  moved, 
came  home  last  night  in  raptures  with  him.  The 
circumstances  were  these  :  Old  Mr.  Clarendon,  who 
is  almost  superannuated,  is  very  tenacious  of  his  legal 
reputation,  and  cannot  bear  an  insinuation  of  decay, 
undertook  the  case.  His  son  accompanied  him  to  the 
courthouse,  and  sustained  him  by  quiet  but  adroit  at- 
tentions.  As  he  watched  every  look  and  motion  of  his 
father,  who  is  somewhat  deaf,  no  one  suspected  that  his 
mental  eye  was  fixed  steadfast  and  keen  on  the  oppo- 
site counsel,  who,  having  opened  the  process  with  spirit, 
clearness,  and  grace,  propitiated  the  favour  of  the  judge, 
secured  the  attention  of  the  audience,  and  made  his 
client  half  a  head  taller  with  sudden  hope. 

4<  As  old  Mr.  Clarendon  arose  to  reply,  that  change 
was  perceptible  which  follows  when  an  animated  and 
forcible  speaker  gives  place  to  a  prosing  one.  Re- 
spect  for  his  character  and  past  services  at  the  bar 
preserved  the  court  from  any  open  manifestations  ;  but 
the  uneasy  motion,  the  half  encouraged  cough,  the 
crumpled  papers,  the  outstretched  foot  scraping  on  the 
sandy  floor,  gave  ample  testimony  to  the  presence  of  a 
tolerated  bore.  Matters  stood  thus  for  about  a  quarter 
of  an  hour,  when  suddenly  the  old  man's  strength 
failed,  and  he  sank  into  a  seat  panting  and  exhausted. 
Clarendon  gave  him  one  keen  glance  of  inquiry,  and 
then  rose  gracefully  and  unhesitatingly  in  his  place. 
He  dwelt  for  a  few  moments  respectfully  and  tenderly 
on  his  father's  position  and  his  own,  then  entered  at 
once  the  mazes  of  litigation.  His  voice,  you  know, 
Ruth,  is  almost  feminine ;  but  father  says  it  swelled  to 
such  a  noble  distinctness  that  no  word  was  lost ;  a 


116  LOVERS    PROGRESS. 

bright  clear  spot  flushed  his  usually  pale  cheeks,  and 
his  dark  eyes  (so  soft  with  us,  Ruth)  flashed  with  ear- 
nestness  and  intellectual  power.  Father  says  he  could 
think  of  nothing  so  much  like  him  as  the  sun  rising 
amid  clouds.  Mist  after  mist  rolled  off,  and  left  his 
argument  and  his  case  clear  as  a  summer  noon.  And 
then  it  was  so  affecting  to  see  the  old  man.  Recover- 
ing  gradually,  his  feeble  form  sat  erect,  but  a  kind  of 
surprise,  as  if  awakening  from  a  dream,  came  over 
him  ;  then  placing  his  hand  behind  his  ear,  and  leaning 
forward,  he  listened  intently  as  a  Delphian  priest  to  the 
ancient  oracles ;  then  gaining  strength,  stood  up,  his 
white  hair  falling  forward ;  he  then  clinched  the  side 
of  his  coat  next  his  heart,  as  if  to  keep  it  still ;  twice 
he  almost  gasped  for  breath,  still  oftener  passed  his 
handkerchief  over  his  eyes,  and  then,  growing  care- 
less of  observation,  he  let  the  large  tears  roll  unheeded 
down  his  cheek.  The  plea  was  closed,  and  as  a  con- 
gratulating  murmur  arose,  Clarendon  turned  round 
to  the  old  man,  who  still  stood  as  if  listening,  and 
whispered, 

" '  Shall  I  accompany  you  home  ?' 

" '  God  be  thanked !'  was  the  only  reply  ;  and  as  the 
father  and  son  went  out,  a  new  murmur  of  approbation 
passed  round. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  my  dear  Ruth,  any  of  the  tech- 
nicalities  of  the  case,  but  I  know  that  it  is  gained 
outright,  and  that  Clarendon's  first  fee  will  enable 
him  to  carry  a  fine  stock  of  sugarplums  to  little  Ros- 
alie." 

After  reading  this  letter  Ruth  threw  her  handker. 
chief  over  her  face,  and  leaned  her  head  against  the 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  117 

rock.  A  sweet  but  mighty  stream  was  rushing  over 
her  whole  soul. 

"  It  is  of  no  use  to  struggle,"  she  said,  starting  up ; 
"  I  must  have  my  cry  out !"  and  weep  she  did,  with  the 
sobbing  thoroughness  of  a  spoiled  child. 

Relieved  by  this  indulgence,  she  bathed  her  eyes  at 
the  river  bank,  and  returning  to  her  mother,  gave  her 
the  letter.  That  evening  Mr.  Raymond  read  aloud 
at  the  teatable  the  report  of  the  case  of  Leeds  and 
Whittesby,  and  Ruth  had  the  rich  joy  of  hearing  Clar- 
endon's praises  from  her  father's  lips.  A  letter  of  the 
softest  embossed  paper  accompanied  the  newspaper 
from  the  office,  which  Mr.  Raymond  handed  to  Ruth. 
It  contained  only  a  few  words. 

"  Will  you  be  in  your  grotto  to-morrow  afternoon  at 
five  o'clock?  Tell  your  parents  that  I  ask  this  fa- 
vour.  ALFRED  CLARENDON." 

Ruth  passed  the  letter  to  her  father,  who  read  and 
handed  it  to  her  mother.  There  was  a  smile  from  one 
and  a  nod  from  the  other,  and  no  one  spoke;  but 
Ruth  knew  thai  she  might  go  to  the  grotto ;  and  so, 
laying  the  letter  next  her  heart,  she  fell  into  divers 
reveries. 


118  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

The  Interview.— A  Thunder-storm.— Ruth  a  Creature  to  be  Loved. 

RUTH  came  from  the  toilet  for  the  challenged  inter- 
view simple  and  pure  as  the  blossom  that  waits  the 
morning  sun.  The  slight  vanity  that  might  have  en- 
ticed  her  to  linger  at  her  mirror  gave  place  to  a  more 
absorbing  sentiment.  She  heeded  not  the  glow  that 
gathered  on  her  cheek,  nor  felt  the  airy  motion  with 
which  she  trod,  nor  marked  the  tremulous  lustre  of  the 
eyes  that  turned  mechanically  to  smooth  the  wave  of 
her  glossy  hair.  She  longed  for  solitude  ;  and  hasten- 
ing, with  unaffected  directness,  to  the  grotto  before  the 
appointed  hour,  seated  herself  with  her  fingers  between 
the  leaves  of  a  book.  But  her  mind  was  not  there  ; 
the  rustle  of  the  trees,  the  rush  of  the  mill-wheel  start- 
led her  ;  now  she  paced  the  limited  area  of  her  rocky 
enclosure,  now  impatiently  looked  abroad,  where  the 
waters  glittered  through  the  hanging  branches ;  but, 
when  a  real  footstep  approached,  gathered  up  her  maid- 
en dignity,  and  sat  collected  and  demure. 

Clarendon  came,  and  in  a  moment  was  seated  on  the 
low  stone  at  her  feet.  Glad  was  he  to  see  the  chan- 
ging colour  flit  over  her  expressive  face,  glad  at  the 
tremour  that  parted  her  vainly-compressed  lips. 

"  May  I  call  you  Ruth  while  I  tell  you  the  story  of 
my  heart  ?"  he  whispered. 

"  You  may  call  me  Ruth,"  was  the  reply. 

"  May  I  hold  this  hand  as  a  pledge  that  you  will 
bear  me  patiently?"  he  added. 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  119 

The  hand  was  not  withdrawn,  and  for  a  while  Clar. 
endon  could  not  speak.  It  seemed  enough  to  him  to 
feel  that  treasure  within  his  grasp.  He  gazed  upon 
it,  smoothed  its  soft  surface,  and  then  laid  his  fore- 
head  against  it,  that  its  throbbings  might  be  calmed. 

"  You  had  a  story  of  your  heart  to  tell  me,"  said 
Ruth,  falteringly. 

Clarendon  raised  his  eyes  to  hers.  There  must  have 
been  inspiration  in  those  full-fringed  orbs,  for  his  words 
burst  forth  with  an  energy  that  called  up  Ruth's  blush, 
es  and  tears  in  struggling  mastery — such  tears  as  can 
only  once  be  shed — the  rainbow  tears  of  a  young  heart 
whose  new  happiness  is  too  intense  for  smiles. 

And  there,  in  the  simplicity  of  nature,  with  earth  for 
their  altar  and  heaven  for  their  witness,  were  they 
pledged  together  for  weal  or  wo.  May  I  look  longer 
on  that  scene  ?  The  robin  that  whistled  on  the  peach- 
tree  bough  above  them  told  not  the  tale  in  song  ;  the 
grasshopper,  vibrating  on  the  emerald  shaft  at  their 
feet,  hummed  not  the  story  to  his  mate  ;  the  fish  that 
sprang  upward  in  the  transparent  stream,  went  down 
again  in  considerate  silence  to  the  pebbly  bottom  ; 
and  even  a  twinkling-eyed  toad,  whose  home  was  in  a 
corner  of  the  grotto,  raised  his  jewelled  head,  and  then 
leaped  reverently  away. 

An  hour  passed  by,  and  the  lovers  saw  not  the  cloud 
that  was  rolling  above  the  hills,  nor  heard  the  rever- 
berating harbinger  of  a  summer  shower.  The  little 
spot  that  enclosed  them  was  the  world,  lit  by  the  sun- 
shine of  their  loving  eyes  ;  and,  before  they  suspected 
the  coming  evil,  a  gleam  of  vivid  lightning  filled  the 
grotto,  a  burst  of  thunder  shook  the  rock,  and  a  gush 
of  winds  rent  the  beech- tree  above  them.  A  messen. 


120  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

ger  came  rapidly  from  the  house  to  aid  their  return ; 
but  Clarendon  deemed  it  most  safe  to  remain  under  the 
protection  of  the  rock  until  the  brunt  of  the  storm  sub- 
sided.  Wrapping  Ruth  tenderly  in  a  cloak,  and  bra- 
cing an  umbrella  strongly  over  her,  he  perhaps  felt 
glad  that  the  elementary  war  without  thus  threw  her 
under  his  protection. 

"  Life  will  have  its  storms,  my  own  Ruth,"  he  said, 
"  and  thus  shall  I  protect  you,  and  thus  will  you  glad- 
den  me." 

And  Ruth  became  assured  amid  the  tempest.  The 
almost  troubled  joy  of  her  heart  was  hushed  ;  the  re- 
lation in  which  she  stood  to  Clarendon  assumed  a 
quiet  confidence,  and  she  turned  to  him  as  her  guar- 
dian. The  lightning  played  round  her,  and  she  stood 
bright  and  calm  as  a  chiselled  column ;  the  thunder 
groaned  and  echoed  from  summit  to  summit,  but  her 
voice  sounded  silvery  clear  in  the  tumult  of  the  ele- 
ments. 

A  few  large  drops  fell  from  the  clouds,  then  the  va- 
pours rapidly  parted,  and  the  cerulean  sky  looked  glo- 
riously through  ;  gradually  the  winds  sank  to  rest,  the 
thunder  told  a  muttering  story  among  the  distant  val- 
leys, a  rainbow  arched  the  hills,  and  the  western  sun, 
robed  like  a  conqueror,  stood  a  moment  seemingly  still, 
then  sank  in  flashing  honours  to  repose. 

As  Clarendon  and  Ruth  passed  from  the  grotto,  he 
drew  her  gently  to  the  bridge.  They  bent  a  moment 
over  the  railing  together,  but  the  agitated  waters  gave 
back  no  look  of  love.  Did  no  sad  presentiment  tell 
them  that  thus  the  stream  of  their  affections  might  be 
darkened  and  ruffled  by  an  overruling  destiny?  that 
a  more  fearful  storm  might  rend  those  hearts  on  which 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  121 

life's  sunshine  seemed  to  rest  so  proudly  ?  No  such 
doubt  was  with  them.  There  needed  no  mirror  now 
to  give  Ruth's  expression  to  her  lover's  eye.  Her 
confiding  smile  made  its  free,  untrammelled  confession. 

And  who  might  stand  more  erect  than  they  amid 
life's  sunshine  ?  A  pure  and  righteous  love  united 
them,  wealth  and  the  world's  regard  were  before  them, 
beauty  and  manliness  their  dower.  They  hastened 
homeward  for  their  crowning  joy,  the  parental  blessing, 
and  Ruth,  as  she  was  pressed  in  her  parents'  arms,  and 
saw  her  lover  welcomed  like  a  son  to  their  affections, 
thought  that  earth  could  give  nothing  more  of  bliss. 

"  Mr.  Clarendon,"  said  Mrs.  Raymond,  in  a  soften- 
ed tone,  as  he  bade  her  good-night,  and  stood  lingering 
beside  Ruth,  "  I  know  that  you  feel  the  value  of  such 
a  treasure  as  my  child  has  given  you  in  herself.  I 
know  you  will  love  and  cherish  her ;  but  forgive  the 
thought  that  grows  spiritual  as  earth  fades  away.  Re- 
member that,  in  the  better  world  to  which  I  am  hast- 
ening, I  shall  ask  for  my  child."  And  as  she  said  this, 
her  eye  glanced  upward  from  Ruth's  bending  form  to 
heaven. 

Touched  and  subdued  by  her  gentle  solemnity,  Clar- 
endon took  the  hand  of  his  betrothed,  and  vowed,  as 
he  valued  his  own  soul,  to  guide  hers  to  her  spiritual 
home. 

It  was  a  perpetual  surprise  to  Clarendon  to  study, 
as  time  flew  by,  the  development  of  Ruth's  character 
and  charms  ;  the  heart-gayety  that  sent  its  happy 
flashes  into  the  family  circle ;  the  soberer  thought  that 
could  appreciate  his  graver  tone  ;  the  refined  taste  that 
seemed  instinctively  to  choose  whatever  was  of  the 
purest  texture  in  books,  in  society,  in  nature ;  the 
L 


122  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

beauty  that  now  sparkled  and  glowed  in  her  brilliant 
cheeks  and  eyes,  now  softened  to  pensiveness  on  her 
shading  lids  ;  the  songs,  once  for  the  many,  now  for 
him,  which  came  forth  from  her  lips,  not  like  a  written 
melody,  but  as  a  bird  would  sing,  soul-taught ;  those 
motions,  graceful,  pliant,  home-like,  that  accompanied 
the  presented  flower,  the  dancing-step,  the  broken  song, 
the  unstudied  recitation  of  a  poet's  lay ;  and  lovelier 
still,  the  moral  growth,  the  indignant  burst  against  all 
that  was  base  ;  the  lofty,  enthusiastic  love  of  goodness ; 
the  very  faults  of  precipitation,  that  called  up  blushes 
and  tears  in  atonement ;  all  these  Clarendon  was  al- 
lowed to  trace  from  day  to  day  in  a  few  stolen  hours 
of  love,  and  who  shall  say  how  much  their  memory  il- 
luminated the  dry  pagqs  of  legal  lore,  or  softened  the 
dusty  details  of  the  courtroom  ? 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  123 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A  Cloud  on  Ruth's  Happiness. — A  Promise.— Death. 

RUTH  was  aroused  from  this  spell  of  happiness  by  a 
mysterious  depression  in  her  mother.  She  had  been 
accustomed  to  see  in  her  an  appearance  of  delicacy 
and  debility,  and  had  watched  her  for  the  last  year 
with  peculiar  care,  placing  her  chair  in  the  warmest  or 
coolest  spot,  supporting  her  arm  through  the  garden, 
walks,  and  studying  all  those  tender  arts  that  a  kind 
sensibility  engenders.  But  this  debility  was  accom- 
panied by  a  cheerfulness  that  seemed  the  spontaneous 
growth  of  a  happy  heart,  as  well  as  the  offspring  of  a 
religious  trust.  She  was  the  playmate  of  her  children, 
a  companion  for  all.  Now  a  change  had  certainly, 
sadly  come  ;  and  one  day,  when  Ruth  perceived  that 
she  had  been  weeping,  she  resolved  delicately,  but 
carefully,  to  study  the  change  in  this  precious  being. 

"You  are  not  anxious  about  papa's  cough  now," 
said  Ruth.  "  I  never  knew  him  so  gay.  He  seems 
growing  young  again." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Raymond,  bending  over  her  work, 
"  he  is  in  unusual  spirits.  I  hope  he  will  travel  in  the 
spring." 

"  With  you,  mamma  ?"  said  Ruth,  anxiously ;  "  you 
seem  very  feeble." 

Mrs.  Raymond  looked  up  with  a  serious  but  serene 
expression,  which  seemed  to  say,  "  There  will  be  no 
spring  for  me  in  this  world*" 


124  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

"  I  wish  I  could  feel  sure  that  you  are  happy,"  said 
Ruth,  tenderly  ;  "  I  have  feared  lately  that  you  were  not. 
If  /  had  a  sorrow,  I  would  tell  it  all  to  you.  And  why 
should  you  not  be  happy  ?  We  are  all  in  health  ;  papa 
is  as  gay  as  a  boy"  (Ruth  did  not  perceive  a  slight 
shudder  pass  over  her  mother's  delicate  frame),  u  and 
I — you  must  sympathize  in  my  hopes." 

"  God  knows,  my  child,"  said  Mrs.  Raymond,  "  my 
gratitude  for  his  mercies,  and  chiefly  that  he  has  bless- 
ed you  with  Clarendon's  love.  I  look  forward  to  your 
connexion  with  him  with  perpetual  hope,  and  consign 
you  to  him  as  to  an  angel-messenger  to  lead  you  to 
heaven." 

This  sweet  and  tender  sentiment  led  Ruth  off  from 
her  mother's  feelings  to  her  own,  and  the  cloud  seem- 
ed  to  fade  away  from  both.  A  few  weeks  passed  away 
happily  to  Ruth.  Her  father  had  thrown  off  a  natural 
reserve  of  manner,  and  was  singularly  communica- 
tive and  facetious.  One  day,  however,  at  dinner,  in 
a  pause  of  conversation,  Ruth  looked  up  at  him,  and 
saw  his  eyes  fixed  on  her  mother  with  an  intensity 
amounting  to  ferocity.  As  Ruth  looked,  the  expres- 
sion changed,  and  he  laughed  out  abruptly  and  painful- 
ly, while  her  mother  turned  very  pale.  It  was  strange. 
Ruth  felt  her  blood  curdle,  but  her  mother  smiled  her 
gentle,  tranquil  smile,  and  all  seemed  as  before.  But 
that  look  haunted  Ruth  for  days,  and  once  she  dream- 
ed that  her  father  fixed  it  on  her  until  she  became  ri. 
gid  and  was  turned  to  stone.  At  length  that  too  pass- 
ed  away,  and  love  and  hope  outgrew  the  stranger-plant 
of  fear.  If  Mrs.  Raymond  had  a  sorrow  peculiarly 
her  own,  she  bore  her  cross  in  secret,  in  secret  wore 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  125 

her  crown  of  thorns,  while  Ruth  was  ignorant  and 
happy. 

But  the  springtime  of  earth  was  not  to  blossom  for 
Mrs.  Raymond.  First  the  sunshiny  walk  was  given  up, 
then  her  chair  by  the  parlour  fire  was  vacated,  then 
she  could  no  longer  lean  on  Ruth's  arm  to  see  the  sun- 
set  from  her  window,  nor  tend  the  geraniums  that  stood 
with  quiet  leaves  as  if  they  knew  her  hand.  The  chil- 
dren trod  round  her  bedside  on  tiptoe ;  but  Mr.  Ray- 
mond's  step  was  hurried  and  bustling,  unlike  the  lei- 
surely  step  of  former  years.  At  length  a  chill  east 
wind  brought  on  a  fever,  and  she  knew  that  she  must 
die. 

Ruth  was  by  her  bedside  at  twilight,  a  solemn  hour 
at  any  time,  but  chiefly  so  when  death's  shadows  are 
gathering  over  one  we  love.  There  was  no  sound 
but  the  wind  moaning  without,  the  irregular  crackling 
of  the  fire,  the  monotonous  tick  of  the  watch,  and  the 
laboured  breath  of  the  sufferer,  telling  how  life  strug. 
gled  in  its  prison. 

The  invalid  moved  uneasily  on  her  pillow. 
"Dear   mamma!"  said  Ruth,  whispering,  for  she 
knew  not  what  to  say. 

"  Lock  the  door,"  said  Mrs.  Raymond,  with  effort ; 
"  I  must  speak  with  you  alone." 

Ruth  obeyed,  and  nestled  by  her  mother's  side. 
"  I  must  not  conceal  from  you,  my  poor  girl,"  said 
her  mother,  in  slow  and  laboured  accents,  "  that  you 
are  soon  to  lose  me,  perhaps  this  very  night."     (Ruth 
screamed  with  terror,  but  that  gentle  voice  recalled 
her.)     "My  physician   has  told  me  this,   and   I  am 
ready  to  go,  ready  to  obey  God's  will  in  death  as  in 
life.     But  I  must  say  a  few  words  to  you  while  my  rea. 
L  2 


126  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

son  is  preserved  to  me.  Prepare  yourself,  call  up  re. 
ligion  to  your  aid,  for  your  trial  is  near.  Ruth,  my 
blessed  child,"  and  here  the  sufferer's  voice  sank  to  a 
whisper,  "  for  the  last  few  months  my  life  has  been  one 
of  hypocrisy.  My  heart  has  been  breaking  beneath 
smiles.  Your  father's  character  has  undergone  a 
fearful  change."  (Here  Ruth  felt  the  bed  shake  with 
the  convulsive  tremour  of  her  dying  mother.)  "  I  have 
no  strength  nor  heart  to  tell  you  how  this  change  has 
operated ;  the  whole  aim  of  my  existence  has  been  to 
conceal  it.  Ruth,  your  father  hales  me."  (Here  Ruth 
recalled  that  look  which  had  so  terribly  excited  her.) 
"  At  times  he  bends  over  me  with  such  looks,  and  then 
hour  by  hour  I  hear  his  sleepless  footstep,  tramp, 
tramp,  till  it  enters  my  very  brain.  Oh  God,  that  it 
should  be  so  !  Oh  God,  that  I  who  would  die  for  him 
should  be  his  victim  !  My  faith,  my  hope  is,  that  with 
my  death  the  balance  of  his  character  may  be  resto- 
red ;  but  should  it  not,  it  is  for  you,  Ruth,  to  preserve 
his  reputation  at  all  hazards.  Swear  to  me"  (and  in 
her  excitement  she  rose  up  in  bed,  forgetful  of  her  weak- 
ness),  "  swear  to  me  that  you  will  be  to  him  as  a  child, 
what  I  have  been  as  a  wife  ;  that  you  will  conceal  his 
infirmities,  and  not  breathe  them  to  the  winds.  Ruth," 
she  continued,  almost  wildly  extending  her  emaciated 
arm,  and  reeling  to  and  fro,  "  swear." 

Ruth  knelt  by  the  bedside  as  in  a  terrified  dream, 
but  her  voice  became  collected  as  she  said, 

"I  will  be  to  my  father  as  a  child,  what  you  have 
been  to  him  as  a  wife,  so  help  me  God." 

Mrs.  Raymond  sank  on  her  pillow,  and  Ruth  remain- 
ed on  her  knees,  burying  her  head  in  the  bedclothes, 
and  striving  to  think  amid  her  gushing  tears.  Sudden- 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  127 

ly  she  perceived  that  no  breath  was  to  be  heard ;  and, 
extending  her  hand  to  that  of  her  mother,  she  felt  it 
cold  and  rigid  in  her  grasp.  Was  this  death,  death  ? 
With  a  wild  and  piercing  cry  she  fell  on  the  floor,  and 
when  the  door  was  forced  for  admittance,  was  found 
insensible. 

That  is  a  dim,  cold  hour  that  familiarizes  the  young 
with  death,  the  contrast  with  living  things  is  so  ter- 
ribly vast.  Ruth  rose  from  the  bed  on  which  she  had 
been  laid,  and  walked  resolutely  to  her  mother's  apart- 
ment.  The  bustle  for  the  newly  dead  was  over  ; 
friends  and  attendants  moved  with  that  light  tread 
which  jarred  not  the  senseless  form,  their  eyes  turning, 
as  they  moved  on  the  white  shroud,  as  if  they  might 
disturb  her  repose.  The  face  of  the  death-sleeper  was 
calm,  and  her  hands  crossed  quietly  on  her  breast. 

Poor  Ruth !  for  eighteen  years  she  had  felt  the  pres- 
sure of  those  warm  and  tender  hands ;  they  had 
chafed  her  frosty,  dimpled  fingers  in  childhood  ;  they 
had  rested  on  her  forehead  in  sickness  ;  then  there 
had  been  the  richer  clasp,  when  the  younger  heart  had 
reached  the  sacred  portal  of  filial  sympathy,  and  hand 
lay  in  hand,  because  soul  became  endeared  to  soul. 
And  she  should  feel  that  touch  no  more;  the  close 
coffin,  the  heavy  earth,  would  hide  her  mother.  It  was 
a  bitter  thought ;  nature  almost  scorned  the  decree 
that  should  sever  such  a  tie.  Those  lips  must  speak 
their  wonted  accents  of  love,  those  eyes  must  unclose 
to  meet  hers.  Ruth  laid  her  hand  upon  the  brow,  the 
lips.  They  were  cold,  cold  ;  she  knew  that  this  was 
death,  and  her  heart  seemed  breaking. 

Her  father  wept,  and  tried  to  comfort  her  ;  she  was 
still  and  tearless,  and  turned  to  him  vacantly;  the 


128  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

children  stood  around  her,  claiming  her  as  their  moth* 
er  now,  and  asked  her  to  cry,  because  it  would  make 
her  feel  better ;  but  no  tears  came.  At  length  Claren- 
don arrived,  and  folded  her  in  his  arms  beside  that 
death-couch.  He  had  loved  that  mother  well ;  he 
knew  the  truth,  the  fadeless  beauty  of  her  lovely  mind. 

"  Let  us  weep  together,  my  own  Ruth,"  he  said,  as 
he  pressed  her  to  his  heart.  "  I  would  that  she  had 
been  my  mother ;  but  she  is  sanctified  in  my  memory 
as  such.  We  will  never  forget  her,  dearest ;  we  will 
talk  of  her,  and  love  the  spirit  that  hovers  near  to  bless 
us.  Weep,  weep,  my  beloved,  but  let  me  wipe  away 
your  tears." 

Then  Ruth  wept,  but  she  could  not  be  comforted. 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  129 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Ruth  and  her  Father.— The  Burial. 

RUTH  lingered  in  her  mother's  apartment  after  Clar- 
endon's departure.  She  could  no  longer  arrange  the 
pillow  on  the  cold,  hard  bedstead  to  which  that  dear 
form  was  transferred,  but  she  smoothed  the  shroud, 
and  pressed  down  the  snowy  eyelids,  and  parted  the 
hair,  whose  sprinklings  of  white  showed  the  first  foot- 
step  of  age  or  anxiety.  No  fear  possessed  her,  for 
stronger  emotions  prevailed,  and  drove  the  common 
shudderings  at  death  away.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
while  she  could  kiss  her  lips  and  press  her  hand,  some, 
thing  of  her  mother  remained  to  her. 

Mr.  Raymond  sat  in  the  parlour,  soothing  the  lamen- 
tations that  broke  in  sudden  bursts  from  the  children. 
He  put  Rosalie  to  bed  himself  with  more  than  cus- 
tomary care,  told  her  that  her  mamma  was  in  heaven, 
and  that  she  must  love  her  still ;  and  when  Ruth  went 
below  from  her  mournful  duties  in  the  apartment  of 
death,  she  found  him  with  his  head  bent  over  a  table, 
and  his  face  hidden  by  his  hands.  A  gush  of  tender- 
ness rushed  over  her  afflicted  heart,  and  softened  the 
memory  of  that  fearful  death-scene.  Was  it  not, 
thought  she,  the  delirium  of  disease  that  had  operated 
on  her  mother's  last  moments  ?  It  would  almost  seem 
so  ;  and  with  rapid  reasoning  she  resolved  that  it  was 
so  ;  and,  going  to  her  father,  for  she  loved  him  fondly, 
she  knelt  down,  and  entwined  her  arms  around  him. 
He  seemed  agitated  and  subdued,  returned  her  caresses, 


130  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

and,  speaking  in  the  broken  tones  of  grief,  bade  her  a 
fond  good-night,  and  retired  to  rest. 

Ruth  said  her  sobbing  prayers,  and  crept  shiveringly 
to  bed  beside  the  motherless  Rosalie,  whose  quiet  re- 
pose gave  no  token  of  her  recent  tears.  She  sought 
her  little  warm  hand,  and  crushed  it  closely  in  her 
own,  as  if  to  feel  its  life ;  but  she  could  not  sleep. 
Tumultuous  feelings  worked  at  her  heartstrings. 

"  It  was  a  wild  death-fancy  of  that  blessed  spirit," 
thought  she.  "  Strange,  that  God  should  have  given 
such  a  dreary  exit  to  one  whose  whole  joy  was  to 
bless  others.  I  should  have  thought  she  would  soar 
upward  in  a  vision  of  love  and  joy.  Oh,  mother, 
mother,"  she  ejaculated  aloud,  "  I  could  have  borne  to 
see  you  go  in  peace  to  your  eternal  home,  but  in  men- 
tal  darkness,  in  despair !  Oh  God,  it  is  too  sad, 
too  fearful !" 

The  clock  on  the  stairway  struck  two,  yet  Ruth 
slept  not ;  and  suddenly  she  was  startled  by  footsteps 
in  the  passage,  and  saw  a  gleam  of  light  beneath  her 
door,  and  heard  the  lock  of  her  mother's  room  turn. 
Conscious  that  it  could  only  be  her  father,  her  heart 
beat  very  wildly,  and,  raising  herself  from  her  pillow, 
she  listened  intently.  No  sound  was  heard  but  Rosa- 
lie's  light  breath.  Ruth  laid  herself  again  on  her 
pillow ;  her  pulse  grew  more  excited,  her  head  throbbed 
with  the  excess  of  her  sensations.  "  Yet  why,"  she 
thought  for  a  moment,  "  might  not  love  have  prompted 
this  solitary  nocturnal  visit  ?  What  could  or  should 
keep  a  fond  husband  from  the  remains  of  one  so  lovely  ?" 

But  no  reasoning  soothed  her,  and  suddenly  that 
look  rushed  upon  her  memory.  She  started  to  her 
feet,  threw  her  dressing-gown  about  her,  opened  the 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  181 

door  softly,  and  stood  by  her  mother's  room.  The 
door  was  ajar.  Shrinking  with  almost  a  sense  of  intru- 
sion, she  drew  back  a  moment,  and  would  have  retired, 
when  an  unnatural  sound  arrested  her.  It  was  not  a 
groan,  but  a  kind  of  prolonged  hiss,  that  went  tingling 
through  her  brain.  Slowly,  softly,  with  instinctive 
caution,  she  pushed  open  the  door,  her  bare  feet  making 
no  sound,  and  stood  riveted,  for  there  was  her  father, 
pale  and  ghastly,  wrapped  in  a  sheet  like  a  shroud,  hold- 
ing  a  light  in  his  extended  hand  close  to  the  face  of  the 
corpse,  now  hissing  and  now  chattering,  as  he  perused 
its  still  lineaments. 

Ruth  had  no  longer  power  to  stand.  Crouching 
down,  she  gazed  as  if  fascinated,  when  suddenly  her 
father's  ungracious  antics  ceased,  his  face  became 
rigid,  his  form  stood  erect,  and  that  fierce,  fixed,  strong 
look  of  hate  was  bent  upon  the  deadr  Ruth  knew  not 
how  long  it  lasted  ;  her  own  eyes  seemed,  by  a  kind  of 
horrible  sympathy,  to  open  and  glare  upon  him  ;  her 
hands  were  clinched,  her  heart  almost  stopped  its 
beating  ;  but  when  the  figure,  for  it  seemed  no  kin  to 
her,  turned  slowly  to  depart,  she  sprang  to  her  feet, 
hurried  with  light  but  frantic  steps  to  her  room,  and, 
covering  herself  in  the  bedclothes,  shook  in  the  tumult 
of  an  ague-fit. 

"  Speak  to  me,  Rosalie,  speak  to  me,  or  I  shall  die," 
she  whispered  in  her  agony. 

The  unconscious  child  put  her  arms  about  her,  and 
sank  off  again  to  pleasant  slumbers. 

The  gray  dawn  rose  cold  and  slow,  and  a  new  agony 
came  over  her,  in  the  thought  that  her  father  was  a 
madman,  and  might  have  marred  the  corpse.  She 
dressed  herself  rapidly  and  went  to  the  death-room. 


132  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

All  was  quiet ;  and  as  she  unbolted  a  shutter,  the  dim 
light  of  dawn  revealed  the  ghastly  but  undisturbed 
rest  of  death.  Ruth  felt  a  sensation  of  thankfulness, 
and,  kneeling  down,  laid  her  fevered  forehead  against 
the  cold  breast  that  lent  no  responsive  throbbing. 
Sunlight  came,  and  lit  up  the  features  to  a  less  fearful 
hue  ;  and  Ruth  took  her  pillow,  and,  sitting  down  by  the 
body,  reposed  her  head  there,  for  it  ached  sadly. 
Nature,  overtasked,  brought  her  repose,  and  she  slept 
until  awakened  by  little  Rosalie's  hand  clasping  her 
own. 

There  was  a  strange  contrast  to  that  bewildering 
night  in  the  proprieties  of  the  breakfast-table.  Mr. 
Raymond's  manners  betrayed  no  peculiarity,  except, 
perhaps,  a  heightened  cheerfulness.  Ruth  spoke  with 
difficulty ;  her  tongue  seemed  parched  when  she  at- 
tempted to  address  him. 

" He  is  not  mad"  she  thought,  as  she  noted  his  at- 
tention  to  the  children,  his  household  cares,  his  pre- 
ventive kindness  to  herself.  "  I  could  almost  wish  he 
were." 

Clarendon's  arm  supported  Ruth  in  the  funeral  pro- 
cession,  along  the  road  where  they  first  met,  but  she 
had  no  heart  for  the  tender  recollections  of  that  scene. 
Her  father  led  Rosalie,  and  she  looked  jealously  and 
distrustfully  upon  his  movements,  her  grief  almost 
shrinking  to  a  span  before  her  fear.  No  look  or  word 
justified  her  alarm  on  the  melancholy  way ;  but,  as  they 
stood  around  the  grave,  and  all  eyes  were  bent  to  the 
lowering  of  the  body,  she  turned  hers  to  his,  and  saw 
again  that  look  bent  over  the  coffin,  and  heard  a  hiss, 
like  wind  amid  the  cordage  of  a  vessel,  through  his 
compressed  lips.  Her  strained  and  breaking  powers 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  133 

gave  way,  and  she  fell  in  hysterical  convulsions  into 
Clarendon's  arms. 

No  one,  not  even  Clarendon,  saw  in  this  scene  any. 
thing  but  the  mastery  of  strong  grief;  that  terrible  foun- 
tain of  mystery  was  sealed. 
M 


134  LOVE'S   PROGRESS. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

The  Raymond  Fdte. 

RUTH,  once  the  petted  child  of  domestic  love,  the 
veriest  butterfly  on  life's  flowers,  was  now  to  be  the 
self-sacrificing  woman ;  filial  love  her  trial  and  her  in- 
spiration.  Sometimes  she  fancied  a  growing  paleness 
and  tenuity  about  her  father's  forehead,  a  variable  fluffi- 
ing  of  the  cheeks,  and  a  dryness  in  the  palms  of  the 
hands,  that  indicated  disease  ;  and  then  it  occurred  to 
her  that  medical  advice  might  be  necessary ;  but  an  al- 
most  superstitious  reverence  for  her  death-bed  vow, 
and  a  dread  that  the  intimacy  of  a  physician  might  re- 
veal her  father's  infirmities,  deterred  her  from  con- 
sulting one.  It  was,  indeed,  difficult  for  one  so  inex- 
perienced to  tell  the  boundary  between  wilful  passion 
and  a  wilder  hallucination. 

Three  months  passed  away ;  the  grass  sprang  fresh- 
ly on  Mrs.  Raymond's  grave,  and  Clarendon  began  to 
urge  his  claims  to  a  consummation  of  his  happiness. 

"  You  are  not  mine,  Ruth,"  he  urged,  "  until  I  can 
see  you  in  our  own  home.  I  am  jealous  of  your  lavish 
love  for  others.  You  have  too  many  cares  ;  there  is 
a  hurry  and  agitation  in  your  manners,  occasionally, 
ill-suited  to  your  age  and  temperament,  and  unlike  the  ; 
playful  repose  of  former  days.  I  will  steal  you  away 
from  this  absorbing  group.  I  want  my  own  breakfast, 
table,  and  those  dear  fingers  peeping  out  from  beneath  a 
white  morning-dress,  to  pour  out  our  coffee  in  two  cups. 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  135 

Besides,  dearest,"  and  his  voice  became  lower,  "  I  fear 
your  father  is  growing  weary  of  my  encroaching  visits." 

Ruth  turned  very  pale,  but  she  rallied  herself,  and 
her  sweet,  confiding  accents  reassured  him. 

A  few  days  after,  Mr.  Raymond  said  to  Ruth,  ab- 
ruptly, "  We  live  too  humdrum  a  life  here.  You  are 
growing  pale  and  mopish.  I  intend  to  give  a  ball." 

Ruth  started.  «  A  ball,  father  /"  (She  had  given 
up  the  more  endearing  appellation  of  her  childhood 
since  that  night.)  "  You  must  be  jesting ;"  and  she 
looked  mournfully  at  her  sable  dress,  the  tears  coming 
to  her  eyes. 

"  By  no  means,"  said  Mr.  Raymond,  rubbing  his 
hands  in  great  glee  ;  "  and  here  comes  the  proof  that 
I  am  not  going  to  shut  up  my  fair  daughter  any  long- 
er." 

Ruth  looked  up,  and  saw  several  men  approaching 
with  boxes  and  crates.  They  were  opened,  and  Mr. 
Raymond  called  her  attention  to  lamps,  mirrors,  and 
other  articles  of  rare  value  and  elegance. 

Ruth  clasped  her  hands  in  silence,  and  the  tears,  no 
longer- to  be  restrained,  fell  into  her  lap. 

"  Away  to  your  room,  girl !"  muttered  Mr.  Ray- 
mond,  through  his  shut  teeth.  Ruth  obeyed  without 
looking;  up.  If  she  had —  ^  • 

Evening  came,  and  brought  Clarendon.  It  was  in 
vain  for  Ruth  to  conceal  her  distress ;  and,  as  compo- 
sedly as  possible,  she  told  her  lover  of  her  father's  an- 
nouncement. 

Clarendon's  brow  clouded.  "  We  must  resist  this 
singular  idea,"  he  said,  "  if  only  for  your  father's  rep- 
utation." 

Mr.  Raymond  soon  appeared,  in  high  spirits. 


136  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

He  had  been  employed  in  writing  cards  of  invitation 
in  Ruth's  name,  and,  going  beyond  the  village,  included 
many  persons  of  distinction  in  the  city  to  whom  he 
was  a  stranger. 

Clarendon  and  Ruth  urged  their  objections  with  as 
much  delicacy  as  possible  ;  but  they  seemed  to  fall 
back  as  if  cast  on  ice,  until  Mr.  Raymond,  turning 
fiercely  to  Clarendon,  exclaimed : 

"  It  is  not  strange  that  you,  sir,  should  wish  to  shut 
up  Ruth  as  in  a  nunnery.  Had  more  eyes  fallen  on 
her,  she  would  not  have  been  so  lightly  won." 

"  Father,"  exclaimed  Ruth,  her  susceptible  nature 
at  length  excited  beyond  control,  "  if  you  care  not  for 
vie,  at  least  reflect  a  moment  on  this  desecration  of 
the  dead.  Look  at  that  face,"  and  she  pointed  to  her 
mother's  picture,  "  which  now  gazes  upon  us  as  we 
dare  to  slight  her  memory  before  the  world." 

Mr.  Raymond  looked  up  at  the  picture.  It  was 
taken  when  he  first  brought  his  young  bride  to  the 
shelter  of  his  home,  and  her  smile  was  one  of  light 
and  joy.  Ruth  followed  her  father's  eyes  as  they 
sought  the  portrait.  What  she  then  saw  Clarendon 
knew  not,  but  he  heard  a  cry  of  terror,  and  caught  her, 
not  fainting,  but  trembling  and  powerless,  as  she  sank 
at  her  father's  feet. 

From  that  day  Ruth  offered  no  obstacle  to  the  fete, 
nor  spoke  of  it  to  Clarendon,  but  gave  herself  up,  a 
passive  spectator,  to  the  elegant  and  costly  decorations 
that  were  multiplying  around.  She  often  sighed  deeply, 
yet  tried  to  check  her  sighs,  and  talked  to  Clarendon 
and  the  children  in  secret  of  her  mother. 

Clarendon  looked  on  with  bitterness,  for  already  the 
city  rang  with  speculations  on  the  Raymond  fete. 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  137 

Ruth's  name,  hitherto  unknown,  was  noised  with  exag- 
gerated expressions  of  her  beauty  and  accomplish- 
ments, and  an  invitation  to  Miss  Raymond's  ball  was 
the  envied  object  of  the  day. 

"  Ruth,"  said  her  father  to  her,  as  the  fairy  prepar- 
ations rose  with  all  the  beauty  that  wealth  and  taste 
could  give,  "  what  shall  be  your  dress  for  the  ball  ?" 

"  I  wish  none  but  this,  father,"  she  said,  tremulously 
pointing  to  her  mourning  suit;  but,  seeing  him  look 
angrily,  she  added,  "I  will  arrange  some  flowers  in 
my  hair,  and  that  will  look  gayly  enough." 

"  No,  no,"  answered  Mr.  Raymond,  with  a  thought- 
ful air  :  "  I  will  bespeak  your  dress." 

"  As  you  please,"  was  Ruth's  reply ;  and  she  retired 
to  her  own  apartment  to  weep  anew. 

On  the  evening  before  the  dreaded  day,  as  she  and 
Clarendon  were  sitting  together,  with  a  cloud  of  anx- 
iety on  their  usually  serene  faces,  Mr.  Raymond  en- 
tered. 

"  Your  dress  has  come,  Ruth,"  he  said,  laughing. 
"  It  is  black,  too  ; 

"  Dark  as  was  chaos." 

"  Sir,"  exclaimed  Clarendon,  interrupting  him,  as  he 
saw  the  convulsive  agitation  of  Ruth's  features  at  her 
father's  levity,  "  you  trifle  too  far  with  your  daughter's 
feelings  ;  as  my  affianced  wife,  I  claim — "  ^ 

Mr.  Raymond  darted  a  ferocious  look — was  it  not 
the  look  ? — at  Clarendon,  hissed  a  curse  between  his 
closed  teeth,  and  left  the  room. 

"  Clarendon,"  said  Ruth,  starting  up,  and  laying  her 
hand  impressively  upon  his  arm,  "  I  must  not  thwart 
my  father's  will.     I  have  sworn  to  it,  and  I  will  keep 
my  word  if  it  leads  me  to  the  grave." 
M  2 


138  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

Clarendon  looked  grieved  and  offended. 

"  Have  I  no  claim,  then  ?"  he  asked.  "  What  was 
the  value  of  the  gift  of  your  affections  without  your 
confidence  ?  You  are  too  tame,  Miss  Raymond.  The 
city  teems  with  idle  speculations,  until  you  are  a  by- 
word.  I  almost  fear  you  love  the  miserable  gewgaws 
that  have  changed  this  peaceful  mansion  into  a  show- 
house,  since  you  have  not  had  the  resolution  to  stop 
this  exhibition." 

Clarendon's  spirit  had  all  along  chafed  in  respectful 
silence,  and  now  that  he  spoke  it  was  in  bitterness. 

"  Now  am  I  indeed  miserable,"  said,  Ruth  mourn- 
fully  detaining  him  as  he  prepared  to  go.  "  While 
you  gave  me  your  confidence  and  respect,  I  had  sun- 
shine  on  my  way ;  but  now,  now — Alfred  Clarendon, 
you  must  give  me  your  confidence.  I  know  not  how 
sorely  I  am  to  be  tried,  but  I  feel  that  nothing  less  than 
an  overmastering  love  will  make  you  bear  with  me. 
Have  faith  in  me,  I  implore  you.  I  am  endeavouring 
before  God  to  act  rightly,  but  I  have  a  dark  path  to 
walk ;  the  more  dark  to  me,  because  my  soul  loves  the 
open  day.  But  you  will  trust  me  through  it  all ;  you 
will  not  take  away  my  sole  help,  next  to  God's,  your 
love." 

Clarendon  knew  not  how  to  interpret  this  wild  Ian- 
guage ;  but  he  saw  the  imploring  eyes  that  were  turned 
to  his ;  he  felt  the  tears  that  dropped  from  them,  and 
the  pressure  of  the  hand  pledged  to  be  his  own.  Not 
long  was  the  struggle  between  his  light  resentment 
and  his  affection,  and  he  renewed  his  vows  to  love  the 
trembling  girl  eternally,  through  weal  or  wo. 

The  illuminated  gardens  already  blazed  with  light 
on  the  following  evening,  and  still  Ruth  sat  in  her 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  139 

mourning  suit,  detaining  Rosalie  by  her  side.  Her 
heart  was  full  of  wo. 

"  Come,  sister,"  said  the  child,  "  put  on  my  beauti- 
ful frock.  It  is  covered  with  flowers.  It  is  prettier 
than  this  black  one." 

"  But,  Rosalie,"  said  Ruth,  "  it  is  for  mamma  that 
we  wear  the  black." 

"  Poor  mamma  loved  flowers,"  said  the  little  girl, 
evasively. 

Ruth  sighed  heavily. 

"  I  won't  wear  it,  then,  if  it  makes  you  sigh  so,"  said 
Rosalie,  putting  her  arms  round  Ruth's  neck.  "  Let 
us  wear  mamma's  black." 

"  Are  you  dressed,  Ruth  ?"  said  Mr.  Raymond,  La  a 
hurried  voice,  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in,  father,  and  help  me  dress  Rosalie,"  said 
Ruth,  cheerfully  ;  and  in  a  moment  she  was  on  her 
knees,  fastening  the  gay  suit  of  the  pleased  child ;  her 
own  mourning  strangely  contrasted  with  the  new  at- 
tire. 

Mr.  Raymond  looked  gratified  at  the  butterfly  guise 
of  his  little  girl,  and  led  her  away.  Just  then  a  strain 
from  the  band  provided  for  the  orchestra  swept  along 
the  passage. 

"  Music  for  the  sacrifice !"  sighed  Ruth,  gloomily 
unfolding  the  dress  of  rich  silk  velvet  selected  by  her 
father. 

" It  was  kind  to  let  it  be  Hack"  she  said,  bitterly. 

No  light  of  gratified  taste  or  vanity  beamed  from 
her  eyes,  as  she  stood  in  faultless  proportions  before 
her  mirror,  with  the  folds  of  her  dress  falling  gracefully 
around  her  ;  but  her  beautiful  eyes  were  cast  upward 


140  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

in  mental  prayer,  and  her  voice  murmured,  "  Thou 
knowest,  mother,  that  I  love  thee." 

Again  her  father's  footstep  was  at  the  door,  and 
again  she  cheerfully  bade  him  enter.  He  looked  ad- 
miringly upon  her,  and,  presenting  her  a  box,  bade  her 
open  it.  It  contained  a  set  of  costly  pearls,  and  she 
stood  in  silence  as  he  clasped  them  on  her  white  neck 
and  rounded  arms,  and  twined  them  in  her  hair. 

"  She  should  be  a  princess,"  he  said,  exultingly,  lead- 
ing  her  to  the  drawing-room. 

Clarendon  was  there  alone.  He  started  with  a  thrill 
of  wonder  and  pride  as  the  exquisite  apparition  stood 
before  him ;  and  Ruth,  forgetting  her  sorrows  in  his  in- 
tense admiration,  blushed  and  was  glad. 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  141 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Clarendon  Unhappy.— Ruth  and  her  Pastor.— A  Renewal  of  Vows. 

THIS  was  no  time  for  Ruth's  sensibility  to  be  awa. 
kened  to  mournful  emotions.  The  diffused  glow  of 
the  countless  lamps,  the  exciting  note  of  the  finely  har- 
monized band,  the  constellation  of  female  beauty  and 
fashion,  and  her  introduction  to  statesmen,  officers,  and 
authors,  filled  her  imagination,  dazzled  her  eyes,  ele- 
vated the  tone  of  her  conversation  and  manners,  and 
carried  her  away  from  her  own  exclusive  sorrows. 
She  might  even  have  been  lifted  too  far  on  this  giddy 
height,  have  been  too  much  elated  by  the  novelty  and 
brilliancy  of  the  spectacle  around  her,  had  not  the  hur- 
ried motions  of  her  father,  perceptible  only  to  herself, 
awakened  her  to  the  necessity  of  self-possession  ;  and 
it  was  this  thought  that  gave  a  gentle  dignity  to  her 
deportment,  exalting  her  beyond  the  inexperienced  girl 
to  the  considerate  hostess. 

One  individual,  however,  in  that  sparkling  group, 
became  grave  and  sad ;  and  in  proportion  as  the  light 
barks  around  him  rose  and  floated  on  the  waves  of 
excitement,  did  Clarendon  moor  up  his  kindlier  feel- 
ings and  fall  into  the  shade.  Who  that  has  looked  in 
solitude  on  one  lovely  face,  listened  to  a  voice  of  ten- 
derness and  trust,  seen  the  glad  footseps  of  welcome, 
and  heard  the  parting  sigh  for  him,  for  him  alone,  from 
his  own  peculiar  treasure,  but  feels  rifled  when  that 
treasure  is  exposed  to  the  many  ?  Again  and  again, 


142  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

as  he  perceived  the  admiration  that  swelled  in  the  at- 
mosphere where  Ruth  moved,  he  thought  of  her  fa- 
ther's taunt,  "  Had  more  eyes  seen  her,  she  would  not 
have  been  so  lightly  won."  Then  Ruth  was  such  an 
exquisite  listener,  that  she  was  an  involuntary  flatterer. 
Ought  she,  he  thought,  to  listen  thus  to  others  ?  Are 
strangers  to  sharfe  the  look  that  has  so  long  been  mine 
alone  ?  With  what  thoughtful  interest  her  eyes  are 
raised  to  the  talker  !  Heavens  !  can  emotion  dictate 
the  sudden  fall  of  those  fringed  lids  ?  But  she  is  led 
away  to  the  dance ;  a  stranger  touches  her  white  fin- 
gers ;  see  her  foot  beating  time  to  the  measure,  and 
now  she  floats  off  like  an  air-touched  cloud,  floats  away 
from  me ! 

Among  the  invited  guests  that  night  was  the  clergy- 
man of  the  village.  Age  still  laid  his  hand  gently  on 
the  old  man,  leaving  his  faculties  free  and  his  affec- 
tions kind ;  and  he  had  enough  of  the  curiosity  of  hu- 
man nature,  mingled  with  his  interest  for  the  Ray- 
monds, to  carry  him  at  an  unwonted  hour  to  their  res- 
idence. But  when  the  illuminated  garden  burst  upon 
his  sight,  and  the  music  rolled  upon  his  ear,  he  shrank 
back  half  alarmed,  until  the  thought  that  Ruth  might 
meet  him  in  some  quiet  corner  led  him  on  ;  and  with 
slow  steps  and  a  faltering  mind  he  entered  the  sitting- 
parlour,  the  only  apartment,  except  Ruth's  and  the 
nursery,  unchanged  in  the  elaborate  arrangement. 
Exhausted  by  his  walk,  he  took  possession  of  the  rock- 
ing-chair, so  long  occupied  by  the  former  mistress  of 
the  mansion,  and  with  his  eyes  raised  to  her  likeness, 
dwelt  in  revery  on  many  things,  until  aroused  by  the 
bounding  footsteps  of  little  Rosalie.  The  child  paused 
as  she  saw  him,  and  was  soon  on  his  knee. 


LOVE'S   PROGRESS.  143 

**  Do  you  like  my  new  frock  ?"  she  said,  pointing  out 
to  him  its  embroidered  flowers. 

The  old  man  was  silent  and  serious. 

"  There,  now  !"  exclaimed  Rosalie,  pouting,  "  that  is 
like  sister  Ruth  !  when  papa  brought  it  home,  she  cried, 
and  said  she  loved  mamma's  black  the  best." 

The  old  man  kissed  Rosalie,  and  smiled  kindly. 
Slipping  from  his  knee,  she  ran  to  the  dancing  hall  to 
tell  Ruth  he  was  there. 

A  look  at  her  venerable  friend,  as  his  eyes  were  up- 
raised  to  that  beloved  portrait,  stirred  up  the  dormant 
current  of  her  feelings ;  and,  going  towards  him,  she 
eagerly  clasped  his  extended  hand.  He  pressed  hers 
tenderly,  drew  her  closely  towards  him,  and  read  her 
countenance  with  his  undimmed  eyes  long  and  ear. 
nestly.  Ruth  stood  unquestioning,  unanswering  ;  her 
only  motion  a  glance  at  her  mother's  picture,  her  only 
utterance  a  deep,  deep  sigh. 

"  Poor  child,"  said  the  old  man,  pityingly,  "  I  am 
sure  that  all  is  right  here"  and  he  laid  his  withered 
hand  on  her  throbbing  heart. 

"  God  bless  you  for  your  kind  judgment,"  said  Ruth, 
sadly ;  "  all  is  right  as  yet  between  me  and  heaven." 

The  preluding  strain  of  the  dance,  for  which  Ruth 
was  engaged,  sounded  from  the  room  above.  She  hes- 
itated for  a  moment,  then  suddenly  kneeling  down  by 
her  pastor's  side,  whispered, 

"  Bless  me  before  I  go." 

He  bent  over  her,  his  gray  locks  falling  amid  her 
pearl-crowned  hair  as  he  murmured, 

"  God's  blessing  be  on  you,  my  dear  child,  a  better 
gift  than  mine." 

A  brighter  light  than  ever  emanated  from  physical 


144  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

charms  shone  around  Ruth  as  she  re-entered  the  dan- 
cing-hall.  Her  form  was  erect,  her  step  light,  her 
eyes  beamed  forth  a  tremulous  lustre,  and  her  whole 
air  was  elevated,  as  if  angel-guests  had  cheered  her 
on  ;  and  if  she  spoke  less,  the  glittering  sensibility  of 
her  face,  and  the  softened  tones  of  her  voice,  were 
doubly  eloquent. 

Clarendon  saw  this  change,  and  fancying  that  the 
love  of  admiration  had  wrought  it,  turned  away  and 
sighed  bitterly. 

**  Oh  why,"  he  thought,  "  was  I  indulged  in  the  long, 
sweet  dream  that  she  was  mine  only  ?  Fool  that  I 
was,  to  know  so  little  of  woman's  heart  as  to  think  its 
feathery  sail  would  not  bow  before  the  breeze  of  nov- 
elty and  fashion  !  and  yet,  who  am  T,  that  I  should 
dare  to  appropriate  the  brightest  of  heaven's  creatures 
to  myself?  She  ought  to  be  admired  and  prized. 
Can  the  sun  shine,  and  men  not  see  the  blaze  ?" 

Thus  thinking,  Clarendon  walked  towards  the  win- 
dow to  inhale  the  evening  air,  for  he  was  oppressed. 
Just  then  he  felt  a  soft  touch  on  his  arm,  and  his  name 
uttered  by  the  voice  whose  lightest  tones  could  thrill 
to  his  soul's  depths.  He  turned,  and  his  decision  was 
instantly  made. 

**  Ruth,"  he  said,  rapidly,  "  will  you  escape  from 
these  people,  and  go  with  me  for  five  minutes  through 
the  back  path  to  the  grotto  ?'* 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment  earnestly,  and  then 
quietly  extricating  herself  from  the  crowd,  soon  found 
him  by  her  side.  He  was  silent  during  the  short 
walk,  but  drew  her  arm  through  his,  and  held  her  hand 
with  a  tenacious  clasp.  The  stars  looked  forth  bright 
and  conqueringly  as  they  receded  from  the  illuminated 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  145 

paths,  and  the  softened  notes  of  the  French  horns 
came  gracefully  on  the  breeze.  But  sights  and  sounds 
were  unnoted.  On  reaching  the  grotto,  Clarendon  re- 
leased  the  hand  he  held,  and,  standing  before  Ruth,  ad- 
dressed  her  in  a  voice  of  forced  composure. 

"  I  find  you  to-night,"  he  said,  "  suddenly  transform, 
ed,  a  new  creature.  I  sought  and  won  your  affections 
in  solitude,  before  you  knew  your  own  power  or  the 
feebleness  of  my  claims.  Selfishly  forgetting  the  de- 
mands of  society,  I  never  dreamed  how  gloriously  my 
forest-flower  would  burst  forth  before  the  world  ;  but 
now  the  illusion  is  dissolved.  I  find  you  by  acclama- 
tion the  idol  of  the  crowd.  I  find  you  jilted  for  this 
new  sphere  by  a  natural  grace,  that  raises  you  even 
above  the  forms  of  fashion ;  and,  Ruth,  pardon  me, 
Ruth,  but  your  sparkling  eyes,  your  glowing  cheeks, 
your  airy  footsteps,  say  that  you  prize  this  new-found, 
fairy  land  of  existence.  What,  then,  is  my  duty  ?  I, 
who  have  appropriated  your  young  affections  perhaps 
too  soon,  too  engrossingly  ?  Here,  on  the  very  spot  I 
sought  them,  I  leave  them  free.  No  bitter  taunt  shall 
again  tell  me  that  you  were  'lightly  won.'  I  will  not 
say  how  my  heart  will  be  riven  by  this  sacrifice  ;  how 
the  world,  where  the  star  of  your  loveliness  is  to 
culminate,  will  be  to  me  dark  and  cheerless.  I  will 
crush  these  selfish  feelings,  and  bear  my  sentence  like 
a  man." 

There  was  a  very  slight  pause  before  Ruth  replied  ; 
but,  when  her  voice  was  heard,  its  truthfulness  was 
worth  a  thousand  oaths. 

"  I  cannot  thank  you,  Alfred,"  she  said,  "  for  releas- 
ing  me  from  this  voluntary  bondage.  The  cage  of 
your  love  is  too  bright  and  golden  for  me  to  wish  to  fly 
N 


146  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

away.  And  what  if  the  world  does  look  temptingly  ? 
So  much  the  more  thankful  am  I  for  this  good,  strong 
arm"  (and  she  entwined  her  own  in  his),  "  to  hold  me 
amid  its  vanities.  Alfred,"  she  continued  (and  her 
words,  losing  their  playfulness,  rose  to  a  sweet  so- 
lemnity),  "  here,  on  the  spot  where  I  gave  you  my  first 
affections,  I  renew  the  vow,  and  call  upon  her  spirit, 
who  sanctioned  me  then,  to  witness  from  her  angel- 
home  how  dearly,  how  undividedly  I  love  you." 

It  was  enough  ;  and  in  expanding  confidence  they 
retraced  their  footsteps  to  the  house.  Was  the  mu- 
sic changed  1  Was  the  air  more  free  ?  Clarendon 
thought  so  as  he  gave  himself  up  to  the  full  assurance 
of  requited  faith. 

**  Let  them  love  her  !  Let  them  adore  her ;  she  de- 
serves it !"  he  thought,  as,  in  rapt  enthusiasm,  he  fol- 
lowed her  with  his  eyes  amid  the  throng  ;  "  but  she  is 
mine,  mine  only." 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  147 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

The  Night  succeeding  the  Ball. 

THE  half  hour  after  a  brilliant  party  is  one  of  the 
most  animated  in  the  world,  where  a  happy  family 
gather  together,  to  reveal  each  his  own  little  experi- 
ence, and  to  let  fall  the  tribute  of  sympathy  into  the 
social  hoard.  But  there  is  no  sadder  season  to  the 
careworn.  The  dying  lamps,  mocking  the  late  uni- 
versal blaze  ;  the  deep  silence,  succeeding  to  anima- 
ted voices  and  thrilling  music  ;  the  spoiled  banquet, 
the  broken  wreaths,  the  laggard  footsteps  of  the  sleepy 
attendants,  all  join  in  melancholy  resemblance  to  the 
soul's  deserted  festivals  of  hope  and  joy. 

With  half-shut  eyes  Ruth  threw  herself  upon  a^/au- 
teuil  awaiting  her  father's  good-night.  Many  hopes 
rushed  up  into  the  little  space  in  which  her  reflections 
turned,  from  the  past  scene  of  fascinating  enchantment 
to  the  present  aspect  of  desolation.  A  quiet  home 
with  Clarendon  was  in  her  revery.  She  felt  how 
grateful  it  would  be  to  her  fond  heart,  when  his  just 
taste  could  regulate  her  more  enthusiastic  mind,  when 
his  true  affection  could  fill  up  the  wants  of  his  exist- 
ence.  "  How  superior  he  is  to  the  many,"  she  thought, 
as  her  fancy  brought  him  before  her  in  manly  beauty 
and  intellectual  power  !  "  Even  among  those  reputed 
great  and  accomplished,  I  see  but  him  !" 

"  I  am  glad  he  doubted  me  !*'  she  exclaimed  aloud, 
clasping  her  hands  with  girlish  ardour.  "  If  he  had 


148  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

not,  I  could  not  have  told  him  again  how  inexpressibly 
dear  he  is  to  me  !" 

She  was  recalled  from  her  momentary  ecstasy  by 
seeing  her  father  treading  on  tiptoe  through  the  pas- 
sage,  as  if  searching  for  some  concealed  object.  As 
he  observed  her,  he  put  his  finger  on  his  lip  in  token  of 
silence,  and  she  saw  in  his  face  the  terrible  concentra. 
tion  of  his  fiercest  passions.  Approaching  her  softly, 
he  asked  in  a  low  but  wild  tone, 

"  Have  you  seen  him  ?     Have  you  seen  him  ?" 

"  Seen  whom,  father  ?"  asked  Ruth. 

"  So,  you  are  not  in  the  plot,"  he  said,  looking  hard- 
ly  at  her  ;  "  but  darker  deeds  than  this  have  come  to 
light.  If  you  are  not  in  the  plot,  I  must  forewarn  you. 
Look  here,  child,"  he  continued,  coming  close  to  her 
ear,  "  if  a  man  (I  don't  say  who)  comes  to  your  bed- 
side with  a  dagger,  take  this  gunpowder,  and  lay  a 
train  to  my  door.  I'll  fix  him  in  five  minutes.  Holla, 
there  !"  he  cried,  as  a  fancied  figure  crossed  his  ima- 
gination, and  with  a  wild  spring  he  dashed  at  one  of  the 
windows. 

An  instantaneous,  an  almost  preternatural  calmness 
took  possession  of  Ruth.  Going  towards  him,  she 
looked  steadfastly  in  his  face,  and  said  resolutely,  "  Fa- 
ther, come  here."  He  obeyed  her  without  remon- 
strance, and  she  drew  him  by  the  hand  to  a  seat  be- 
side her. 

"  Father,"  said  she,  "  we  have  not  talked  over  this 
gay  ball  yet ;"  and  she  began  to  discuss  cheerfully  the 
events  of  the  evening.  It  was  very  singular  to  per- 
ceive the  ease  and  grace  with  which  his  thoughts  re- 
verted to  more  gentle  themes ;  and,  when  Ruth  kissed 
him  and  retired  to  rest,  he  was  as  docile  as  a  child. 


LOVE'S  PEOGRESS.  149 

But  it  was  not  thus  with  her.  The  struggle  had 
been  too  violent  to  pass  off  without  reaction.  Shutting 
the  door,  she  threw  her  arms  above  her  head,  clasped 
them  wildly,  trod  her  room  hurriedly,  and  muttered, 
"  Mad  !  mad !  mad  !"  She  strained  her  sight  as  if 
there  were  some  object  to  blast  her  in  the  distance,  and 
every  sound  seemed  a  dread  summons  to  her  affrighted 
ears. 

After  a  while  this  nervous  terror  passed  away,  a 
cold  perspiration  stood  on  her  forehead,  and  she  be- 
came calm. 

Her  first  regulated  impulse,  even  at  that  late  hour, 
was  to  go  to  the  library  and  examine  a  medical  book 
on  the  subject  of  insanity.  It  was  a  piteous  spectacle 
to  see  the  poor  girl,  still  arrayed  in  the  rich  costume 
of  the  ballroom,  conning  over,  in  solitary  misery,  the 
stages  of  a  father's  mental  derangement.  Too  surely 
were  they  traced  there  ;  and,  rising  from  her  melan- 
choly task,  pale  but  collected,  she  returned  to  her  bed. 
room. 

It  was  surprising  to  her  at  first  to  reflect  on  her 
mother's  blindness  to  the  real  cause  of  her  sorrow ;  but 
when  she  traced  the  gradual  development  of  the  dis- 
ease, and  how,  under  the  class  denominated  maJevoIens, 
it  had  wreaked  its  force  in  hatred  to  one  individual, 
leaving  the  faculties  free  on  every  other  subject,  she 
was  reconciled  to  this  apparent  ignorance. 

But  who  would  be  the  next  object  of  this  delirious 
hostility  was  now  her  thought,  and  she  shuddered  as 
it  crossed  her  mind.  Was  she  to  tell  Clarendon  that 
she  was  in  the  power  of  a  madman,  and  that  madman 
her  own  father  ?  Then  she  remembered  her  singular 
command  over  him,  when,  despite  of  her  terror  that 
N  2 


150  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

night,  her  instinctive  resolution  caused  her  to  address 
him  with  a  tone  of  authority.  Then  recalling  her  vow, 
it  seemed  to  her  that  this  very  power  was  given  her 
to  shield  him  and  keep  his  infirmities  from  the  world. 

"  Nothing  but  heaven  can  guide  me,"  she  murmured 
to  herself;  "  nothing  but  trust  in  God  in  this  wild  and 
dreary  hour.  Mother,  look  down  upon  me  !  Father 
of  mercies,  pity  me,  for  I  am  most  low,  most  wretch- 
ed."  Then,  sinking  on  her  knees,  her  heart,  but  not 
her  lips,  arose  in  prayer. 

Rising  more  calm,  she  unfastened  the  pearls  from 
her  hair.  It  seemed  an  age  since  her  father  placed 
them  there ;  so  varied  and  deep  had  been  the  excite- 
ment of  the  last  hours,  such  wild  transitions  from  what 
the  world  calls  joy  and  triumph  to  the  heart's  deep, 
unhoping  wo.  Who  that  saw  her  treading  her  hall 
like  the  genius  of  delight,  could  fancy  her  as  she  stood 
now,  pale,  stricken,  comfortless  ?  Sleep  had  settled 
on  the  world  ;  eyes  undeserving,  perchance,  of  repose, 
were  now  calmly  closed,  and  soft  visions  beguiling 
their  rest,  while  she,  the  pure,  the  loving,  the  glad 
(when  joy  could  smile),  kept  her  vigil  of  alarm  and 
grief. 

But  grief  and  alarm,  wild  and  wakeful  though  they 
be,  must  yield  to  God's  blessed  nightly  minister,  and 
poor  Ruth  sank  to  sleep  and  forgot  her  woes.  Yet 
her  grief,  though  deep,  was  not  permitted  to  be  of  long 
duration  ;  she  was  awakened  by  the  rattling  of  the 
lock  of  the  door,  and,  opening  her  eyes,  saw  her  father. 
He  was  wrapped  in  his  dressing-gown,  and  held  in  one 
hand  a  light,  and  in  the  other  a  pistol.  Advancing  to 
the  bedside,  he  leaned  over  her  and  whispered, 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  151 

•'  I  have  seen  him  from  my  window ;  he  is  just  un- 
der the  shrubbery  with  a  drawn  dagger  !" 

"  Who,  father,  for  Heaven's  sake,  who  t"  cried  Ruth, 
starting  up. 

"  Alfred  Clarendon,"  he  shouted,  with  his  wildest 
look  of  hate  ;  "  I  warned  you  before."  Then  spring, 
ing  to  the  window,  he  discharged  his  pistol  into  the 
shrubbery,  and  Ruth  sank  on  her  pillow  with  a  pier- 
cing  cry. 


152  LOVE'S  PROGEESS. 


•^  •     CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

The  Departure. 

THE  cry  with  which  Ruth  threw  herself  on  her 
pillow  was  followed  by  such  a  gush  of  untempered 
misery  as  angels  must  almost  weep  to  witness.  Her 
father  had  suddenly  retired,  and  though  he  pursued  an 
imaginary  victim,  yet  what  might  not  even  a  few  hours 
unfold  of  dreadful  reality  ?  Rosalie  still  slept,  the  fa. 
tigue  of  the  preceding  night  wrapping  her  in  unwont- 
ed repose.  Ruth  pressed  her  cheek  tenderly  as  the 
dawning  light  fell  upon  her  innocent  slumbers. 

"  Alas,  alas  !"  thought  the  miserable  girl,  "  what  if 
this  precious  child  be  the  next  victim  to  her  father's 
delirious  vengence?  What  can  shield  her  helpless, 
ness  from  his  insane  strength  ?  Blessed  mother,  well 
was  it  that  your  gentle  spirit  fled  early  from  this  fear- 
ful strife  !  Look  down  and  shield  this  little  one  !" 

The  possibility  of  such  a  painful  visitation  from  her 
father  as  that  she  had  been  contemplating,  made  the 
thought  of  him  horrible  to  her  imagination,  coupling  it 
with  every  association  of  disgust  and  dread.  She 
strove  to  master  her  feelings,  called  up  the  filial  piety 
of  her  nature,  and  strengthened  it  by  the  aid  of  rea- 
son ;  but  the  idea  of  mere  brute  power  levelled  against 
the  fragile  and  beautiful  being  so  peculiarly  thrown  on 
her  protection,  chilled  her  habit  of  dutiful  affection. 
Restless  and  wretched,  she  dressed  herself,  even  at  that 
early  hour,  and,  locking  the  door  on  the  little  sleeper, 
went  down  stairs.  The  domestics  were  not  yet  risen, 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  153 

and  the  few  shutters  her  father  had  thrown  open  re- 
vealed the  faded  wreck  of  the  luxurious  yesterday. 
It  may  seem  singular  that  she  felt  no  personal  fear, 
but  there  are  many  examples  which  justify  this  kind  of 
confidence  in  those  intimately  associated  with  the  in- 
sane.  Passing  through  the  other  apartments,  she  en- 
tered  the  common  parlour,  and  saw  her  father.  He 
sat  in  her  mother's  rocking-chair,  with  his  hands  hang- 
ing listlessly  by  his  side,  and  his  whole  attitude  char- 
acterized  by  an  overwhelming  despondency  ;  all  the 
daughter  was  roused  within  her ;  her  harsher  feelings 
gave  way,  and  the  full  tide  of  tenderness  flowed  anew. 
She  stood  close  beside  him,  and,  gently  putting  her 
hand  on  his  head,  drew  it  towards  her,  and  bent  her 
lips  to  his  forehead.  He  sighed  heavily,  but  allowed 
his  head  to  lean  against  her  bosom,  and  her  arms  to 
enfold  him. 

"  My  dear  father,"  said  Ruth,  "  you  seem  very  un- 
happy." 

He  looked  up  in  her  face  and  replied  slowly, 

"  I  am  a  murderer  !" 

The  poor  girl  shuddered  and  trembled  in  every  limb, 
even  while  conscious  of  the  illusion,  but  caressed  him 
more  tenderly,  for  his  melancholy  tone  and  looks  kept 
alive  her  awakened  sensibility.  But,  suddenly  pushing 
her  away,  he  said, 

"  The  officers  of  justice  will  be  here  in  an  hour. 
We  must  have  the  start  of  them  and  be  gone." 

"  Where  are  we  to  go  ?"  inquired  the  bewildered 
Ruth. 

He  looked  cunningly  as  he  said,  "  We  do  not  tell 
our  secrets  to  women ;  all  your  business  is  to  be 
ready." 


154  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

«'  Delay  one  day  only ;  but  one  day,  father,"  entreat- 
ed  Ruth. 

"  She  would  have  me  hung !"  he  muttered ;  "  I 
thought  you  loved  me,  Ruth,"  he  continued,  despond, 
ingly. 

"  I  do  love  you,  father,"  she  exclaimed,  earnestly, 
taking  his  hand. 

He  brushed  away  the  hair  from  her  forehead,  and 
looked  at  her  kindly  as  he  said, 

u  You  will  not  betray  your  poor  father,  then ;  though 
the  whole  world  forsake  me,  you  will  not  ?  You  have 
been  a  good  child  since  the  first  moment  you  lay  help, 
less  in  my  arms  ;  but  I  tell  you,"  and  he  put  his  mouth 
close  to  her  ear  with  a  shout,  "  /  killed  him  !  Now 
will  you  not  leave  me  to  be  hung  ?" 

"  I  will  never  betray  or  leave  you,  my  dear  father," 
said  Ruth,  soothingly ;  "  but  you  must  drive  away  these 
gloomy  thoughts." 

Mr.  Raymond  did  not  appear  to  listen  to  her. 

"  We  s'hall  have  to  ride  by  the  gibbet,"  he  muttered. 
"  I  have  heard  it  creaking  and  clattering  ever  since — 
you  know  when.  But  quick,  Ruth,  quick,"  he  urged, 
hurry  ingly,  "  if  you  would  not  see  your  father  swing, 
ing  like  a  felon.  They  mean  to  wait  for  no  forms ; 
blood  for  blood  is  the  cry." 

Ruth  rushed  to  her  apartment  for  a  moment's 
thought.  What  could  she  do  ?  The  rapidity  of  her 
father's  resolution  and  movements  allowed  no  pause  ; 
her  only  hope  was,  that  change  of  scene  might  have  a 
salutary  effect  on  his  disease.  Calling  the  housekeeper, 
she  stated  to  her,  as  calmly  as  possible,  that  circumstan- 
ces of  importance  made  it  necessary  for  her  father  to 
begin  a  journey  immediately.  She  endeavoured  to 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  155 

recollect  every  circumstance  important  to  the  comfort 
of  the  household,  but  not  until  it  became  impossible  to 
delay  longer  could  she  speak  of  little  Rosalie. 

"You  must  not  awake  her,"  she  said,  trying  to 
speak  cheerfully,  "  until  I  am  gone,  and  then  tell  her 
that  I  will  send  a  doll  and  some  books  from  the  city." 
She  dared  not  trust  a  look  at  the  child. 

Ruth's  next  movement  was  to  write  two  letters. 
The  first  was  the  following,  to  her  old  pastor. 

"  My  respected  Friend. — A  very  pressing  emergency 
calls  my  father  from  home,  and  he  wishes  me  to  ac- 
company him.  I  am  somewhat  comforted  in  this 
sudden  arrangement  by  the  belief  that  you  will  interest 
yourself  in  our  little  group.  Let  me  ask  you  to  see 
them  often,  and  to  pray  with  them  and  for  me. 
"  With  affectionate  respect, 

"Your  RUTH  RAYMOND. 

Over  the  next  sheet  Ruth  paused  a  moment,  pressed 
her  hand  anxiously  to  her  forehead,  looked  upward 
as  if  for  aid  which  earth  could  not  give,  and  then, 
without  faltering,  wrote  on  : 

"  I  have  only  a  few  moments  to  tell  you,  my  best 
beloved,  a  sad,  wild  story  that  will  rend  your  heart. 
My  father  is  insane.  He  believes  that  he  has  murdered 
you,  and  that  he  is  pursued  by  officers  of  justice.  We 
leave  home  immediately,  in  what  direction  I  know  not, 
but  will  give  you  the  earliest  information.  Your  safety, 
thank  Heaven,  is  secured  by  this  determination.  Keep 
from  my  father's  presence  at  all  hazards,  and  fear 
nothing  for  me.  He  regards  me  with  the  utmost  ten- 


156  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

derness,  and  I  can  control  him  in  most  things.  Perhaps 
change  of  scene  will  benefit  him.  If  I  had  only  time 
to  consult  you  or  a  physician — even  good  Dr.  Gesner 
is  absent.  I  must  look  up  to  heaven  now,  for  earth 
can  scarcely  aid  me.  My  father's  movements  seem 
like  a  kind  of  fate,  they  are  so  imperative. 

"  Dear  Alfred,  my  heart  is  very  sad  at  the  thought 
of  leaving  you  thus.  I  can  fancy  all  your  surprise  and 
sorrow.  And  must  you  have  a  sorrow  that  I  may  not 
sooth  ?  That  was  to  have  been  my  privilege.  Is  not 
mine  a  most  peculiar  grief?  I  must  not  dwell  on  it. 
I  will  think  of  your  love,  and  solace  myself  in  its  faith- 
fulness.  I  will  recall  the  grotto  scene,  and  live  over 
again  in  the  memory. 

"  My  little  Rosalie  is  sleeping.  I  dare  not  look  at 
her.  You  will  see  her  often;  she  will  talk  to  you 
of,  me. 

"  Dear,  dear  Alfred,  beware  how  you  follow  me  !  I 
will  not  answer  for  your  life  a  moment  if  you  do.  I 
have  a  fearful  security  now.  He  thinks  you  dead.  Oh, 
my  beloved,  what  a  desert  would  this  world  be  to  me 
if  that  were  true  !  I  must  keep  away  tears  from  my 
father's  sight,  so  I  will  write  no  more  lest  they  should 
fall.  Your  own  R.  R." 

As  Ruth  closed  and  sealed  this  letter,  and  gave  it  to 
the  housekeeper  to  be  presented  to  Clarendon  at  his 
evening  visit,  the  reality  of  her  departure  was  made 
but  too  evident  by  the  sound  of  trunks  in  the  hall,  and 
the  carriage  drawing  up  to  the  door. 

She  looked  despairingly  from  her  window  over  the 
beautiful  landscape,  on  the  hills  and  vales  of  her  child- 
hood,  so  calm  in  their  morning  brightness.  It  was  the 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  157 

first  time  she  had  ever  left  her  home  ;  it  was  her  world. 
Oh  how  different  from  the  wilderness  on  which  she  was 
about  to  be  thrown !  She  looked  to  the  distant  trees 
that  hid  her  mother's  grave,  to  the  garden  where  every 
walk,  every  blossom  was  hallowed  by  some  tender  as- 
sociation ;  and  then,  with  deeper  emotion,  turned  to 
her  own  apartment,  the  shrine  of  her  life's  treasures. 
Rosalie  still  slept  the  unconscious,  blessing  sleep  of 
childhood  on  the  bed  where  Ruth's  infantile  repose  had 
been  shed,  where  her  heart  had  beat  to  happiness, 
where  her  tears  had  been  dried^  She  crushed  down 
her  spirit  of  wo,  and  with  a  stifled  sigh  closed  the  door 
on  the  slumbering  child,  without  venturing  to  imprint 
a  parting  kiss  on  her  cheek. 

Her  father  appeared  to  have  recovered  his  self-pos- 
session in  the  necessity  of  immediate  exertion.  His 
orders  were  clear,  though  hurried,  and  his  pecuniary 
arrangements  well  regulated.  The  domestics  gather, 
ed  with  wondering  eyes  about  the  passage,  some  with 
a  significant  expression  of  sadness.  Mr.  Raymond 
handed  Ruth  to  the  carriage,  and  took  his  seat  beside 
her.  Then,  as  the  horses  started,  he  rubbed  his  hands 
exultingly,  and  exclaimed, 

«  Safe,  safe !" 

The  trial  of  filial  love  was  consummated. 
O 


158  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Clarendon's  Visit  to  the  Village.— A  Letter.— An  Interview. 

CLARENDON  left  home  for  his  accustomed  evening 
excursion,  in  one  of  those  moods  that  belong  only  to 
youth.  His  thoughts  bounded  from  a  happy  past  only 
to  revel  in  a  blissful  future  ;  poetry  burst  from  his 
lips,  classical  images  clustered  in  his  imagination,  and 
when  he  felt  "himself  alone  on  the  roadside  that  led  to 
the  residence  of  his  beloved,  he  leaped  and  sang  aloud 
in  the  mere  buoyancy  of  his  joy.  Nature  seemed  in 
sympathy  with  his  happiness.  The  slanting  sunbeams 
gave  a  golden  glory  to  the  waving  fields,  the  birds 
trilled  forth  their  vesper  songs,  and  heaven  smiled 
throughout  its  azure  depths. 

As  he  entered  the  gate  it  swang  to  with  the  accus- 
tomed sound  that  was  wont  to  summon  Ruth  to  meet 
him  with  her  radiant  welcome.  He  looked  eagerly 
towards  the  portico. 

Not  there  !  Where  was  the  waved  handkerchief, 
where  the  flowing  garments,  where  the  bright  hair 
tinged  with  the  evening  sunbeam,  where  the  spring- 
ing step,  the  extended  hand,  the  loving  smile?  He 
trod  the  piazza  with  a  lover's  pang,  opened  the  closed 
door,  and  stole  softly  to  the  parlour  to  surprise  and 
chide  the  truant  girl.  It  was  deserted,  and  he  rang 
the  bell.  The  housekeeper  appeared  with  Ruth's  let- 
ter, and,  giving  it  with  a  silent  courtesy,  retired.  He 
tore  it  open,  and  his  eyes  ran  wildly  over  the  fearful 


LOVE'S   PROGRESS.  159 

contents.  What  a  revelation  of  misery  !  The  floor 
seemed  to  fail  beneath  his  feet,  a  deadly  paleness  over- 
spread  his  countenance,  he  gasped  for  breath,  and, 
thoroughly  unmanned,  fell  panting '  into  the  nearest 
chair,  beating  his  breast  in  the  agony  of  suffocation. 
Deep  was  that  heart-struggle,  and  it  was  not  until  he 
heard  the  sweet  voice  of  Rosalie  at  his  side  that  gen- 
tier  nature  conquered,  and  gave  him  relief  in  a  burst 
of  impassioned  tears.  The  child  climbed  on  his  knees, 
threw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  wept  in  sympa- 
thy. 

Recovering  from  the  first  tumult  of  sorrow,  a  few 
mournful  questions  were  asked  and  answered,  and  he 
was  left  alone,  the  light-hearted  girl  seeking  gayer  com- 
panionship.  How  every  object  around  him  spoke  of 
his  beloved!  There  was  the  book  in  which  he  had 
read  to  her  ;  the  song  he  had  last  brought  her  lay  by 
her  guitar,  while  her  open  workbox,  rifled  of  some  of 
its  useful  prettinesses  by  her  present  wants,  still  retain, 
ed  many  a  little  token  of  its  owner's  taste  and  indus- 
try. He  took  up  the  precious  trifles,  and  pressed  them 
to  his  lips  and  forehead  ;  and  then  a  sudden  sting  of 
anguish  shooting  through  his  frame,  he  sprang  up  and 
rushed  through  the  garden  to  the  grotto.  How  still, 
how  deathly  still,  was  that  sacred  spot !  His  pulses 
were  almost  audible.  Was  this  the  place  where  she 
had  so  lately  stood,  living,  glowing,  loving  ?  The  same 
stream  was  flowing  on,  the  same  trees  murmured  in 
the  breath  of  evening,  the  same  flowers  sent  up  their 
perfume  on  the  breeze,  but  all  was  changed  to  him ! 
His  soul  sickened,  his  knees  trembled,  he  threw  him- 
self  on  the  ground,  and  groaned  aloud. 

But  Clarendon  had  cultivated  a  trust  in  Providence 


160  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

amid  life's  sunshine,  and  now  it  came  to  him  unsought 
amid  its  storms.  A  voice  of  mercy  was  heard  whis- 
pering to  his  withered  soul.  ResisteoVat  first  by  the 
fearful  tempest  of  despair,  it  murmured  again  and  again 
"  peace,  peace"  in  that  dreary  hour,  and  at  length  he 
bent  before  God  in  prayer. 

A  dreary  week  passed  away,  and  he  received  the 
following  letter  from  Ruth : 

"  I  have  purposely  avoided  writing,  my  own  Alfred, 
lest  you  should  follow  me,  and  expose  yourself  to  dan- 
ger.  Be  comforted ;  my  father  is  calm  and  happy.  I 
am  surprised  at  the  resources  of  his  mind,  now  that 
circumstances  have  thrown  us  into  such  intimate  con- 
nexion.  He  is  recalling  the  poetry  of  youth,  and  then 
he  speaks  with  such  tenderness  of  my  blessed  mother ! 
Oh  Alfred,  will  not  this  glorious  temple  of  mind  be  re- 
stored  to  perfect  symmetry  ?  I  have  not  yet  mentioned 
your  name  to  him,  but  in  some  calm  and  happy  mo- 
ment I  will  tell  him  that  you  live  and  love  us  still. 

"  Our  movements  are  erratic,  for  he  loves  to  linger 
where  the  beautiful  and  wild  blend  in  natural  scenery, 
and  I  am  only  too  happy  to  aid  his  mental  repose  amid 
such  favourable  scenes.  We  shall  visit  Trenton  and 
Niagara.  I  am  almost  jealous  of  this  enjoyment  apart 
from  you.  We,  who  have  traversed  together  God's 
humbler  natural  walks  with  such  sympathy,  should  go 
hand  in  hand  to  the  mounts  of  his  glory.  But  I  en- 
courage myself  in  this  privation  with  the  thought  that 
I  shall  be  better  fitted  for  your  companionship  after 
this  test  of  my  fortitude  and  principles,  than  if  I  had 
glided  from  the  retreats  of  a  tranquil  home  to  a  life  of 
love  and  repose  with  you ;  and  why  should  /  be  entitled 


LOVE'S  PEOGEESS.  161 

to  heaven  on  earth,  more  than  the  myriads  who  have 
borne  the  cross  of  suffering  and  care  before  me  ?  And 
would  it  not  be  heaven  on  earth  to  enjoy  your  love 
unembarrassed  by  the  afflictions  that  surround  me  ? 
My  poor,  poor  father  ! 

"  Farewell ;  think  of  me  in  prayer, 

«  R.  R." 

Could  anything  have  caused  Ruth  to  forget  the  pe- 
culiar trials  of  her  destiny,  they  would  have  been  erad- 
icated in  the  lofty  and  sublime  associations  excited  by 
the  magnificent  scenery  on  the  Kaatskill  Mountains,  the 
Pisgah  which  shows  so  fair  a  land  of  American  prom- 
ise ;  and,  in  truth,  hope  and  courage  did  wait  like  min- 
istering angels  around  her,  and  her  filial  love  seemed 
meeting  its  reward  in  the  springing  lightness  of  her 
young  bosom. 

On  one  afternoon,  those  long,  luxurious,  balmy  after- 
noons of  a  highland  summer,  Ruth  and  her  father 
strolled  far  from  the  mountain  house  on  the  rugged  and 
romantic  road  to  the  Kaatskill  Falls,  with  which  they 
had  already  become  familiar  ;  Mr.  Raymond,  from  the 
restlessness  of  his  mind,  seeking  novelties  in  the  sur- 
rounding paths,  and  Ruth  finding  in  natural  scenery 
the  best  resource  for  the  indulgence  of  her  "  thick- 
coming  fancies."  Wearied  with  their  rambling  ex- 
cursion, they  seated  themselves  on  a  rock  to  enjoy  the 
gathering  radiance  about  the  setting  sun,  trusting  to 
the  moonlight  and  their  knowledge  of  the  road  for 
their  safe  return.  They  sat  in  view  of  the  Falls,  the 
sound  of  its  deep  plunge  swelling  around,  the  wild  and 
warm-toned  light  among  the  moving  clouds  glorifying 
the  clear  firmament,  while  mountain  and  ravine  lay 
O  2 


162  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

still  as  if  meekly  awaiting  day's  parting  blessing. 
Fascinated  by  the  scene,  the  father  and  daughter 
drank  in  the  thousand  revelations  of  nature  as  they 
burst  from  the  changing  heavens  and  the  tinted  earth, 
and  sat  until  the  large  round  moon  trod  calmly  up  the 
eastern  sky. 

A  holy  tenderness  dilated  Ruth's  trusting  heart  as 
she  turned  her  earnest  face  to  its  disk.  Other  ob- 
jects  around  her  had  no  immediate  association  with  her 
lover  ;  but  the  moon,  the  classic  moon,  how  often  had 
she  raised  her  eyes  towards  that  fair  circle  with  him  ! 
Her  father  sat  calmly  by  her,  and  placing  her  hand  in 
his  without  waiting  his  bidding,  she  began  a  song  dear  to 
Clarendon.  Her  voice  rose  melodiously  on  the  still- 
ness,  bearing  her  heart's  harmony  on  every  tone. 

"  Father,"  she  said  (for  the  time  seemed  fitting  to 
her),  "  do  you  know  who  loves  that.song  ?" 

"  I  love  it,  my  darling,"  was  his  reply,  and  his  hand 
gently  pressed  hers.  "  It  suits  well  the  pathos  of  your 
voice." 

"Alfred  Clarendon  taught  it  to  me,"  she  said,  falter- 


Alas,  poor  Ruth  !  No  sooner  had  that  name  esca- 
ped her  lips,  than  a  fierce,  wild  yell  from  her  father 
pierced  her  ear,  ringing  and  echoing  from  hill  and 
depth  ;  his  eyes  glared  in  the  moonbeams,  he  tossed 
his  arms  furiously  in  the  air,  and,  starting  from  her 
side,  dashed  away  amid  the  gloom  of  a  neighbouring 
thicket. 

Ruth,  with  outspread  hands,  screamed  wildly  for  his 
return,  and  was  springing  to  follow  him,  when,  sud- 
denly, a  form,  closely  enveloped  in  a  cloak,  stood  beside 
her  ;  her  name  was  uttered  in  well-known  accents,  and 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  163 

she  was  pressed  to  Clarendon's  heart.  Concealing  her 
hastily  in  the  shade  of  the  rock,  he  threw  himself  at 
her  feet,  with  pleading  eyes  and  clasped  hands  urging 
her  to  return  with  him. 

"  Come  with  me,  Ruth,"  he  said,  "  and  let  me  pro- 
tect you  by  the  right  which,  in  happier  days,  you  prom, 
ised  to  delegate  to  me.  I  swear  to  you,"  he  urged,  as 
he  saw  the  mournful  denial  in  her  expressive  face, 
"  that  I  too  will  be  a  wanderer  while  you  are  in  this 
peril.  You  would  pity  me  if  you  knew  the  horrible 
fancies  that  attend  me  when  I  see  you  not ;  unless  I 
watch  at  a  distance  the  heavenly  repose  of  your  face, 
life  grows  a  burden.  Oh,  let  me  then  bathe  my  spirit 
in  its  unconscious  sweetness ;  let  me  only  hear  your 
voice,  and  quench  the  thirst  of  my  soul  in  its  delicious 
melody,  and  I  can  live,  and  my  dreams  will  be  almost 
of  heaven.  Then  come,  dear,  dear  Ruth  ;  escape 
while  all  is  well ;  while  this  precious  hand,  warm  with 
life  and  pulsation,  rests  thus  within  my  own.  Come  to 
a  tranquil  home ;  where  my  arms  can  shield  you,  my 
love  comfort  you.  Look  on  me,  beloved,  and  say  that 
you  will  be  mine." 

"  I  cannot  leave  my  father,"  said  Ruth,  in  a  scarce- 
ly  audible  tone. 

"  You  must  leave  him ;  it  is  your  duty,"  said  Claren- 
don, impetuously.  "  Is  he  not  a  madman  ?  Who  will 
guaranty  that  this  delicate  frame,  trembling  even  by 
my  side,  shall  be  free  from  his  violence  1  Heaven  and 
earth !  What  shall  I  say  to  move  you  ?"  he  exclaimed, 
pressing  his  forehead  with  his  clasped  hands.  "  Have 
pity  on  me !  My  heart  is  rent  with  love  and  terror. 
Where,  gentle  and  blessed  girl,  should  your  shelter  be 
but  in  my  arms  ?" 


164  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

Where  indeed,  thought  Ruth,;  and  she  leaned  her 
head  like  a  trusting  child  against  his  bosom,  and  gave 
herself  up  to  the  overflowing  tenderness  of  her  agitated 
heart. 

"  You  are,  you  will  be  mine  own  Ruth,"  he  whisper- 
ed,  triumphantly.  "  You  will  repay  nights  and  days, 
spent  only  in  the  thought  of  you,  by  your  confiding 
love.  I  will  be  as  a  son  to  your  father  if  he  will  re- 
ceive  my  love  ;  if  not,  there  are  asylums  where — " 

Ruth  started  from  his  arms,  a  look  of  intense  and 
mournful  indignation  revealing  her  inmost  feelings,  and 
with  repulsing  hands  thrust  him  from  her.  "  God  be 
thanked,"  she  said,  wildly, "  for  this  cruel  remembrance. 
I  might,  perchance,  have  faltered  in  my  better  pur- 
poses.  Away,  tempter  !  The  only  asylum  for  my  fa- 
ther  is  near  his  child's  breaking  heart." 

Then,  as  if  fearing  her  harshness  might  too  much 
wound  the  feelings  of  her  lover,  she  turned  to  him 
mournfully,  and  took  his  drooping  hand  within  her  own. 

Just  then  her  father's  voice  was  heard  as  he  issued 
from  the  thicket,  chiming  a  careless  song,  and  then  he 
called  her  name. 

One  long,  earnest  embrace,  as  if  death  were  to  ensue, 
was  given  by  that  wretched  pair  ;  then  Ruth  tore  her- 
self away,  and  Clarendon,  wrapped  closely  in  his  cloak, 
followed  them  cautiously  through  the  wild  pathway  to 
the  hotel. 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  165 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Trenton  Falls. 

MR.  RAYMOND  grasped  Ruth's  arm  with  unconscious 
roughness,  and  hurried  her  on,  now  looking  about  with 
a  wild  air  of  expectation,  and  then  laughing  with  a 
childish  vacancy.  As  the  full  moonlight  shone  on  his 
features,  his  anxious  child  saw  a  change  from  their  re- 
cent  expression  of  tender  regard,  to  the  hard,  cold  tone 
which  had  characterized  them  in  his  period  of  excite- 
ment. They  were  not  yet  marked  by  liate ;  thank  God, 
he  loved  her  still ;  but  the  maniac  began  to  be  devel. 
oped  more  distinctly ;  and  when  she  saw  that,  as  a  tear 
dropped  on  his  hand  from  her  eyes,  he  held  it  up  to  the 
moonbeams,  and  laughed,  and  cried  "  Hurra !"  she 
knew  that  sympathy  was  gone.  She  felt  that  she  stood 
beneath  a  lava  mountain,  heaving  to  its  explosion ;  but 
the  Christian  habit  of  her  mind  referred  all  things  to  a 
presiding  Deity  ;  and  when  her  eyes  had  turned  upward 
a  moment,  and  her  lips  moved  in  almost  involuntary 
prayer,  her  fluttering  heart  grew  calm.  Something  of 
joy,  too,  played  over  her  troubled  spirit,  at  the  idea  of 
-Clarendon's  vicinity ;  it  seemed  as  if  another  Provi- 
dence was  watching  over  her.  And  what  felt  that 
covert  wanderer,  as  he  saw  the  flutter  of  her  garments, 
and  remembered  the  pressure  of  her  trembling  form  ? 
The  moonlight  glory  was  no  longer  sought  for  inspi. 
ration  ;  the  mountains  uplifted  their  noble  heights  un- 
heeded, for  the  fair  vision  of  his  heart  was  before  him, 
in  her  youth  and  loveliness. 


166  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

'  And  now  Ruth  and  her  father  are  once  more  on 
their  bright  and  beautiful  Hudson,  while  the  boat 
treads  her  way  like  an  untried  courser.  He  was  com- 
paratively calm,  and  nature,  like  a  sweet  restorer,  heal- 
ed her  wounded  heart.  The  blue,  massy  hills,  as  they 
heaved  heavenward,  lent  her  a  kinder  strength  and 
engendered  a  lofty  repose  ;  a  trust  that  He  who  crea- 
ted and  ruled  the  universe  would  guard  over  her,  and 
thus  she  became  calm  as  a  part  of  that  great  and  ex- 
auisite  whole. 

1  The  deportment  of  Clarendon  was  of  the  most  cau- 
tious and  delicate  character ;  though  invisible,  he  con- 
trived to  spread  an  atmosphere  of  tenderness  around 
her.  Books  were  laid  on  the  table  with  marked  pas- 
sages, or  flowers  that  she  best  loved  ;  and  sometimes 
a  deep,  full  sigh,  and  a  whispered  name,  when  none 
were  near,  told  the  story  of  watchful  affection.  Dear 
and  romantic  was  the  charm  of  this  intercourse,  lend- 
ing a  precious  interest  to  existence,  and  calming  the 
tumult  of  her  filial  cares. 

At  length  they  arrived  at  Trenton  Falls,  that  glori- 
ous handiwork  of  triumphant  nature.  With  what  in- 
nocent yearnings  did  Ruth  sigh  for  Clarendon  to  lead 
her  steps  to  this  sublime  revelation  of  the  Omnipotent ! 
As  she  sat  musing  in  the  parlour  of  the  hotel,  her  fa- 
ther entered  hurriedly,  and  one  look  revealed  to  her 
that  he  must  have  seen  her  lover, 
i  As  he  stood  before  her  with  shut  teeth,  glaring  eyes, 
and  rigid  form,  she  rose  and  clasped  her  hands  implo- 
ringly, forgetting,  in  the  horror  of  the  moment,  to  use 
the  slight  authority  which  she  yet  held  over  him.  He 
said  nothing,  but  drew  her  arm  within  his  own,  and  al- 
most dragged  her  through  the  woods  to  the  steep  stair- 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  167 

way  which  descends  to  the  bottom  of  the  ravine.  The 
sky  was  ominous  with  flitting  clouds,  and  the  gushing 
waters  looked  sternly  beneath  the  scowling  heavens. 
An  undefined  dread  crept  over  Ruth  as  she  saw  the 
narrow  ledge  on  which  she  was  to  tread,  where  the 
rolling  stream  dashed  to  her  very  footsteps,  and  the 
jutting  rocks  soared  up  on  either  side,  as  if  to  shut  a 
death-cry  from  the  world.  In  such  a  spot,  love  should 
lead  with  fond  and  careful  tread,  soothing  the  over- 
wrought  heart  with  tones  of  tenderness ;  but  poor 
Ruth's  arm  wtis  grasped  by  a  maniac  ;  one  step,  and 
the  whirling  abyss  would  close  on  her  for  ever.  Her 
father  released  her  a  moment,  and  stood  sternly  con- 
templating  the  grandeur  of  the  spectacle  ;  at  length  he 
spoke,  and  his  words  grew  eloquent. 

"  Ruth,"  he  said,  solemnly,  "  seems  it  not  as  if  un- 
seen spirits  haunted  these  cliffs  ?  It  would  be  a  noble 
place  to  die.  No  need  for  man  to  raise  monuments 
here.  Let  others  go  to  the  groves,  and  gardens,  and 
streams,  where  the  rose  blushes,  and  the  lily  pales,  and 
rainbows  rest,  and  skies  throw  out  their  western  glow, 
and  seashells  whisper ;  where  woodland  melody  re- 
sounds,  and  the  clear  stars  glisten,  and  the  moonlight 
floats  in  joy ;  let  others  sleep,  if  they  will,  beneath 
chiselled  marble  wet  by  human  tears,  but  give  me  a 
grave  like  this,  amid  clouds  and  gloom,  where  the  veil 
is  rent  from  stormy  nature,  and  let  my  requiem  be  these 
cataract  voices.  Take  me,  take  me,"  he  muttered 
softly,  as  if  appealing  to  some  distant  object ;  and  then 
waving  his  arms  in  passionate  gestures,  he  stopped 
with  a  wild  hurra,  that  rolled  by  the  cliffs,  and  came 
back  in  fearful  echoes. 

Clarendon,  protected  by  the  dense  foliage  above, 


168  LOVE'S  PROGRESS. 

had  been  an  unseen  spectator  of  this  phrensy.  With 
clinched  hands  and  firmly  braced  feet,  he  stood  pre- 
pared for  some  frightful  catastrophe  ;  and  when  that 
echoed  hurra  reached  him,  and  he  saw  Mr.  Raymond 
about  to  carry  Ruth  onward  by  the  passes  below,  una- 
ble longer  to  contain  his  feelings,  he  bounded  down  the 
steps  like  a  maddened  wolf.  Had  the  rocks  around 
him  lifted  their  giant  heads  and  cried  forbear,  his  im- 
pulse would  have  prevailed.  With  an  almost  phren- 
sied  voice  he  cried, 

"  Ruth,  Ruth,  I  adjure  you,  by  the  God  of  Heaven, 
not  to  peril  your  life  with  a  madman." 

Fatal  precipitance  !  Mr.  Raymond,  without  reply, 
caught  his  helpless  child  in  his  arms,  and,  as  if  but  a 
feather's  weight  lay  there,  leaped  along  the  slippery 
way.  He  passed  the  frowning  rocks,  where  trees  root- 
ed in  the  fissures  seemed  reeling  to  their  fall,  sprang 
the  awful  projections  where  the  bounding  waves  dash- 
ed the  dress  of  his  trembling  burden,  and  paused  not 
even  on  the  brink  of  those  frightful  steeps  where  the 
resistless  torrent  ran  in  its  terrible  strength  below. 
Clarendon  too  pressed  on,  heedless  of  every  obstacle, 
reckless  of  but  one  thought,  to  save  the  beloved  of  his 
heart.  Once  Ruth  opened  her  eyes,  and  though  un. 
appalled  by  the  threatening  rocks,  or  the  whirling  wa- 
ters,  she  met  her  father's  gaze  in  its  fixed  and  angry 
glare,  and  closed  them  again  with  sick  and  dizzy  ter- 
ror. 

They  had  nearly  reached  that  fatal  spot,  sacred  to 
sad  memories,  where  a  plighted  bride  and  a  child  fresh 
in  the  budding  promise  of  life  met  each  their  tragic 
doom,  when  Mr.  Raymond  heard  his  pursuer  close 
upon  his  steps.  On  he  sprang  more  impetuously.  He 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  169 

looked  back ;  nearer,  closer.  Again  he  looked,  and 
glared  with  his  maniac  eyes.  Clarendon's  outspread 
arms  were  near  him,  and  he  heard  his  desperate  cry, 

"  Ruth,  my  bride,  my  affianced  one,  I  will  die  with 
you  or  save  you." 

The  madman  laughed  tauntingly,  and  his  wild  hurra 
echoed  again  from  cliff  to  cliff  ere  he  bounded  over 
that  fearful  point.  One  spring,  and  the  father  and 
daughter  sank  where  the  whirlpool  sends  across  its 
bubbling  foam.  Clarendon  threw  his  length  along  the 
edge  of  the  slimy  rock,  with  his  head  over  the  wa- 
ters, and  braced  his  feet  against  a  projecting  point  with, 
in  his  reach.  Oh  the  intense,  the  life-long  agony  of 
that  instant  of  time,  before  Ruth's  garments  were  seen 
above  the  torrent.  He  clutched  at  them  as  with  a 
death-grasp,  but  the  maniac  father  struggled  for  his 
prize.  Awful  was  the  contest ;  twice  he  rose  with  his 
blasting  look  of  hate  full  on  Clarendon,  then  sank,  and 
the  gurgling  waters  closed  over  him  for  ever. 

"  God  receive  him  to  his  peace,"  murmured  Claren- 
don, as  he  drew,  with  an  effort  inspired  by  despair, 
the  insensible  form  of  his  beloved  to  his  arms.  He 
carried  her  to  a  broader  shelf  of  the  rock,  where  the 
dashing  spray  pursued  them  more  faintly  ;  then  wring, 
ing  the  water  from  her  hair  and  wrapping  her  in  his 
cloak,  he  called  her  by  every  endearing  name  to  awake 
to  life  and  love.  He  had  never  seen  her  cheek  un- 
tinged  by  the  hue  of  health,  never  touched  her  hand 
but  its  soft  warmth  had  spoken  of  life ;  now  that  cheek 
was  pale  as  the  foam  that  quivered  over  her  father's 
corpse  ;  her  hand  lay  motionless  and  cold  within  his 
own  ;  and  that  hair  too,  that  shining  hair,  the  simplest 
twine  of  which  was  like  threads  of  gold  to  him,  strew. 
P 


170  LOVE'S  PKOGRESS. 

ed  the  bare  rock  in  its  luxuriance.  He  chafed  her 
hands,  and  laid  his  cheek  to  hers,  and  felt  for  the  beat- 
ing  of  the  heart  so  late  responding  to  his  own.  Sen- 
sation  slowly  returned,  and  without  unclosing  her  eyes 
she  whispered  "father."  Clarendon  gently  pressed 
her  hand  and  laid  his  lips  to  her  damp  forehead  in  si- 
lence. 

"  I  will  never  desert  you,  father,"  said  the  half  un- 
conscious girl.  "  If  I  love  Alfred  Clarendon,  I  can 
still  be  faithful  to  you.  I  have  sworn  it  to  my  blessed 
mother." 

As  she  spoke  large  tears  rolled  from  beneath  her 
closed  lids.  Clarendon  essayed  to  speak,  but  he  felt 
choked.  The  unformed  words  died  gaspingly  away, 
and  he  covered  his  face  in  unutterable  emotion.  Grad- 
ually her  eyes  unclosed ;  at  first  the  cold  high  cliffs 
and  dashing  torrent  alarmed  her  ;  then  she  saw  Clar- 
endon, and  a  bright,  warm  blush  of  joy  rushed  over  her 
face  like  sudden  sunbeams  on  snow.  Then  a  deeper 
consciousness  followed,  as  he  pressed  her  fondly  to  his 
heart,  and  she  attempted  to  rise  from  his  arms  ;  but, 
embarrassed  by  a  feeling  of  her  weakness,  she  sank 
back  helplessly,  and  a  sudden  shade  crossing  her  coun- 
tenance, exclaimed, 

»  My  father  ?" 

"  I  could  not  save  you  both,  dearest,"  said  Claren- 
don,  in  a  low  tone,  bending  over  her  with  deep  emo- 
tion, and  pointing  mournfully  to  the  cataract  as  it 
came  foaming  by  where  the  lost  victim  fell. 

A  strong  hysteric  cry  burst  from  the  unhappy  girl, 
and,  forgetting  her  weakness,  she  sprang  to  her  feet, 
and  stretched  out  her  arms  to  the  rushing  streams  as 
if  they  could  give  back  the  lost,  the  dead. 


LOVE'S  PROGRESS.  171 

"  God  knows  how  willingly  I  would  have  given  my 
life  for  his,"  said  Clarendon ;  "  a  life  valueless  to  me 
if  you  are  not  happy."  And,  as  he  spake,  he  knelt 
on  the  rock  beside  her,  and  bowed  his  head  in  his 
hands. 

"  My  poor  father,"  said  Ruth,  wildly,  unheeding  her 
lover's  prostrate  sorrow,  "you  sleep  beneath  the 
monuments  you  asked.  The  tears  of  love  can  never, 
indeed,  fall  on  your  grave." 

Clarendon  gently  forced  her  from  the  scene.  She 
leaned  upon  his  arm  as  he  guided  her  feeble  steps 
along  the  dangerous  way,  and  her  piteous  moans 
touched  his  inmost  soul.  At  length,  seeming  to  recall 
the  ties  that  bound  them,  and  resisting  the  selfishness 
of  her  grief,  she  bent  her  cold  cheek  to  his  hands  and 
burst  into  tears. 

"  Do  not  think  me  ungrateful  for  the  life  you  have 
preserved,"  she  said,  in  sobbing  accents.  "Do  not 
think  that  I  love  you  less  when  I  weep  for  my  fa- 
ther." 

"  My  poor,  suffering  Ruth  !"  said  Clarendon,  sooth, 
ing  her  like  a  child,  but  addressing  her  as  a  noble- 
minded  woman,  "  in  this  wild  scene  and  at  this  fear- 
ful  hour,  while  I  claim  you  mine,  I  seek  no  present 
token  of  tenderness  from  your  shattered  affections. 
I  have  traced  the  Self-sacrificing  progress  of  your 
heart's  love  through  life's  varied  duties,  and  I  know 
that  the  tender  daughter  will  be  the  faithful  wife." 

Then  Ruth  yielded  herself  silently,  in  mournful 
confidence,  to  his  guidance,  and  the  first  smile,  when 
love  and  hope  triumphed  over  tears,  was  for  him. 


March,  1840. 

VALUABLE  STANDARD  WORKS 

PUBLISHED   BY 

HARPER    &    BROTHER  §,    NE  W-Y  ORE. 


HISTORY. 


INSTITUTES  OF  ECCLESI 
AST1CAL  HISTORY,  Ancient  and 
Modern,  in  four  Books,  much  Cor 
reeled,  Enlarged,  and  Improved, 
from  the  Primary  Authorities,  by 
JOHN  LAWRENCE  VON  MUSHEIM, 
D.D.,  Chancellor  of  the  University 
of  Gottingen.  A  new  and  literal 
Translation  from  the  original  Latin, 
with  copious  additional  Notes,  ori- 
ginal and  selected.  By  JAMES  MUR- 
DOCK,  D.D.  3  vols.  8vo. 

TUB  HISTORY  OF  MODERN 
EUROPE:  with  a  View  of  the 
Progress  of  Society,  from  the  Kise 
of  the  Modern  Kingdoms  to  the 
Peace  of  Paris,  in  1763.  By  WIL- 
LIAM RUSSELL,  LL.D. :  and  a  Con- 
tinuation of  the  History  to  the  pres- 
ent Time,  by  WILLIAM  JONES,  Esq. 
With  annotations  by  an  American. 
3  vols.  8vo.  With  Engravings,  &c. 

THE  HISTORICAL  WORKS 
OF  WILLIAM  ROBERTSON, 
D.D.  3  vols.  8vo.  With  Maps,  Eu- 
gravings,  &c. 

THK  HISTORY  OF  THE  DIS- 
COVERY AND  SETTLEMENT 
OF  AMERICA.  By  WILLIAM  ROB- 
EKTSOV,  D.I).  With  an  Account  of 
his  Life  and  Writings.  To  which 
are  added,  Questions  for  the  Exam- 
ination of  Students.  By  JOHN 
FKOST,  A.M.  8vo.  With  a  Portrait 
and  Engravings. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  REIGN 
OF  THE  EMPEROR  CHARLES 
V. ;  with  a  View  of  the  Progress  of 
Society  in  Europe,  from  the  Subver- 
sion of  the  Roman  Empire  to  the 
Beginning  of  the  Sixteenth  Century. 
By  WILLIAM  ROBERTSON,  DD.  To 
which  are  added,  Questions  for  the 
Examination  of  Student s.  By  JOH  N 
FROST,  A.M.  8vo.  With  Engra- 
vings. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  SCOT- 
LAND, during  the  Reigns  of  Queen 


Mary  and  of  King  James  VI.,  till  his 
Accession  to  the  Crown  of  England. 
With  a  Review  of  the  Scottish  His- 
tory previ  lus  to  that  Period.  Inclu- 
ding the  HISTORV  OF  INDIA.  8vo. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  DE- 
CLINE AND  FALL  op  THE  RO- 
MAN EMPIRE.  By  EDWARD 
GIBBON,  Esq.  With  Notes,  by  the 
Rev.  H.  H.  MILMAN.  4  vols.  8vo. 
With  Maps  and  Engravings. 

VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  EU- 
ROPE DURING  TH8  MIDDLE 

AGES.  By  HKNRY  HALLAM.  8vo. 
From  the  Sixth  London  Edition. 

INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  LIT- 
ERARY HISTORY  OF  EUROPE, 
during  the  15th,  16th,  17th,  and  18th 
Centuries.  By  HENRY  HALLAM. 
[In  press.] 

THE  ANCIENT  HISTORY  OF 
THE  EGYPTIANS,  CARTHA- 
GINIANS, ASSYRIANS,  BABY- 
LONIANS, MEDES  AND  PER- 
SIANS, GRECIANS,  AND  MACE- 
DONIANS; including  the  History 
of  the  Arts  and  Sciences  of  the 
Ancients.  By  CHARLES  ROLLIN. 
With  a  Life  of  the  Author,  by  JAMES 
BBLL.  First  complete  American 
Edition.  8vo.  Embellished  with 
nine  Engravings,  including  three 
Maps. 

PRIDEAUX'S  CONNEXIONS  J 
or,  the  Old  and  New  Testaments 
connected,  in  the  History  of  ihe 
Jews  and  neighbouring  Nations,  from 
the  Declension  of  the  Kingdoms  of 
Israel  and  Judah  to  the  Time  of 
Christ.  By  HUMPHREY  PKIDEADX, 
D.D.  New  Edition.  2  vols.  8vo. 
With  Maps  and  Engravings. 

THK  HISTORY  OF  THE  AMER- 
ICAN  THEATRE.  By  WILLIAM 
DUNLAP.  8vo. 

HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORM- 
ED RELIGION  IN  FRANCE.  By 
the  Rev.  E.  SMEDLEY.  3  vols.  18mo. 


Valuablt     Standard      Workt 


HISTORY. 

A  HISTORY  OF  THE  CHURCH, 

HISTORY  OF  POLAND.  From 

from  the  earliest  Ages  to  the  Refor- 
mation.   By  the  Rev.  GEORGE  WAD- 

the  earliest   Period   to  the  present 
Time.     By  JAMBS  FLETCHER,  Esq. 

D1NGTON,  M.A.      8VO. 

18mo.     With  a  Portrait. 

ANNALS   OF  TRYON  COUN- 

SKETCHES FROM  VENETIAN 

TY  ;  or,  the  Border  Warfare  of  New- 

HISTORY.    By  the  Rev.  E.  SMED- 

York  during  the    Revolution.     By 

LEY,  M.A.    2  vols.  18mo.    Engra- 

W. W.  CAMPBELL.    8vo. 

vings. 

A  NARRATIVE   OF  EVENTS 

HISTORICAL  AND  DESCRIP- 

CONNECTED  WITH    THE    RISE    AND 

TIVE   ACCOUNT   OF    BRITISH 

PROGRESS    OF   THE    PROTES- 

INDIA.    From    the    most    remote 

TANT    EPISCOPAL    CHURCH 

Period  to  the  present  Time.     Inclu- 

IN VIRGINIA.    To  which  is  added 

ding  a  Narrative  of  the  Early  Portu- 

an Appendix,  containing  the  Jour- 
nals of  the  Conventions  in  Virginia 

guese    and    English    Voyages,   the 
Kevolutions  in  the  Mogul   Empire, 

from  the  Commencement  to  the  pres- 

and the  Origin,  Progress,  and  Estab- 

ent Time.    By  F.  L.  HAWKS.    8vo. 

lishment  of  the  British  Power;  with 

HISTORY  OF  PRIESTCRAFT 
in  all  Ages  and  Countries.    By  WIL- 
LIAM HOWITT.    12mo. 
THE  CON  DIT1ON  OF  GREECE. 

Illustrations  of  the  Botany,  Zoology, 
Climate,  Geology,  Mineralogy.     By 
HUGH  MURRAY,  Esq,  JAMKS  WIL- 
SON, Esq.,  R.  K.  GREVU.I.K,  LL  D., 
WHITELAW  AINSLIE,  M.D.,  WIL- 

By Col.  J.  P.  MILLER.    12mo. 

LIAM  RHIND,  Esq.,  Profes»or  JAME- 

FULL ANNALS  OF  THE  REV- 

SON,  Professor  WALLACE,  and  Cap- 

OLUT1ON    IN     FRANCE,    1830. 

tain  CLARENCE  DAI.RIMPLE.    3vols. 

To  which  is  added,  a  particular  Ac- 

18mo.    Engravings. 

count  of  the  Celebration  of  said  Rev- 

HISTORY  OF  IRELAND.  From 

olution  in  the  City  of  New-  York,  on 
the  25th  November,  1830.    By  MYER 

the  Anglo-Norman  Invasion  till  the 
Union  of  the   Country  with  Great 

MOSES.     12mo. 

Britain.     By  W.  C.  TAYLOR,  Esq. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  JEWS. 

With  Additions,  by  WILLIAM  SAMP- 

From the  earliest  Period  to  the  pres- 

SON, Esq.    2  vols.  18mo.    With  En- 

ent Time.     By  the  RCT.  H.  H.  MIL- 

gravings. 

MAN.    3  vols.  18mo.    With  Engra- 

THE   HISTORY   OF    ARABIA, 

vings,  Maps,  &c. 

Ancient  and  Modern.     Containing  a 

HISTORY    OF     THE     BIBLE 

Description  of  the  Country  —  An  ac- 

By the  Rev.  G.  R.  GLEIO.    2  vols. 

count  of  its  Inhabitants,  Antiquities, 

18mo.     With  a  Map. 

Political  Condition,  and  early  Com- 

HISTORY OF  CHIVALRY  AND 
THE  CRUSADES.     By  G.   P.   R. 
JAMES.     18mo.     Engravings. 
A    VIEW   OF    ANCIKNT    AND 
MODERN  EGYPT.    WithanOut- 
line  of  its  Natural  History.    By  the 
Rev.    M.  RUSSELL,  LL.D.    18mo 

merce—The  Life   and   Religion  of 
Mohammed—  The  Conquests,  Arts, 
and  Literature  of  the  Saracens  —  The 
Caliphs  of  Damascus,  Bagdad,  Af- 
rica, and   Spain—  The   Government 
and    Religious   Ceremonies  of   the 
Modern  Arabs  —  Origin  and  Suppres- 
sion of  the  Wahabees  —  The  Institu- 

Engravings. 

tions,  Character,  Manners,  and  Cus- 

SACRKD   HISTORY    OF    THE 

toms  of  the  Bedouins  ;  and  a  Com- 

WORLD, as  displayed  in  the  Crea- 

prehensive View  of  its  Natural  His- 

tion and  subsequent  Events  to  the 

tory.        By    ANDREW    CRICHTON. 

Deluge.    Attempted  to  be  philosoph- 

18mo.    Engravings,  &c. 

ically  considered  in  a  Series  of  Let- 

HISTORY     AND      PRESENT 

ters  to  a  Son.    By  SHARON  TURN- 

CONDITION OF  THE  BARBARY 

ER,  F.S.A.    3  vols.  18mo. 

STATES.    Comprehending  a  View 

PALESTINE;  OR,  THE  HOLY 

of  their  Civil  Institutions,  Arts.  Re 

LAN  D.    From  the  earliest  Period  to 

ligion,  Literature.  Commerce,  Agri 

the  present  Time.     By  the  Rev.  M. 

culture,  and   Natural    Productions. 

RUSSELL,   LL.D.      18mo.     Engra- 

By the   Rev.   M.    RUSSELL,  LL.D. 

vings. 

18mo.    With  Engravings. 

Published    by    Harper     <f     Brot\er*. 


HIST 

DRY. 

HISTORY     OF     SCOTLAND. 

story  has  ever  yet  been  recorded."  — 

By  Sir  WALTER   SCOTT,  Bart.    2 

Edinburgh  Review. 

vols.  12mo. 

"  His  comments  and  elucidations 

"  A  beautiful   illustration  of  the 

are  admirable,  throwing  a  powerful 

grace  and  effect  which  sober  reality 
assumes  when  treated  by  the  pencil 
of  genius.     In  no  work  with  which 
we  are  acquainted  is  the  progress  of 
manners  painted  with  more  historic 
fidelity,  or  with  half  so  much  vivid- 

and striking  light,  both  on  the  stream 
and  on   the  conspicuous  points  of 
English  history."  —  Eclectic  Review. 
"  We  would  place  this  work  in  the 
hands  of  a  young  man  entering  pub- 
lic life,  as  the  most  valuable  and  en- 

ness of  colouring.    This,  the  great 
charm  of  the  work,  will  ensure  it  a 
lasting      popularity."  —  Gentleman's 

lightened  of  commentaries  on  our 
English    constitution."   *   *    *  "  A 
model  of  history."  *  *  *  "  So  much 

,,      &.     "  "          * 

Magazine. 

of  profound  observation,  of  acute 

"  We   have  read  this  book  with 

analysis,  of  new  and  excellent,  ob- 

pleasure.     The  author  throws  over 
the  events  of  the  past  that  splendid 
colouring   which    gives    charms   to 

and  should  be  in  the  hand  of  every 
investigating   reader  of  history."  — 

truth  without  altering  its  features." 

Literary  Gazette. 

—  British  Critic. 
"  Sir  Walter  tells  his  story  with 
infinite  spirit,  and  touches  his  details 

H  f  STORY  OP  SPAIN  AND  POR- 
TUGAL.    By  3.  A.  DUNHAM,  LL.D. 

5  vols.  12mo. 

with  a  master's  hand."—  Eclectic.  Re- 

"The  very  best  work  on  the  sub- 

HISTORY  OP    FRANCE.     By 
E.  E.  CROWE,  Esq.    3  vols.  12mo. 

ject  with  which  we  are  acquainted, 
either  foreign  or    English."—  Athe- 
naium. 

"The    best    English    manual    of 

'•  A   work  of  singular  acuteness 

French  History  that  we  are  acquaint- 

and information."  —  Prescott's  History 

ed  with."—  Eclectic  Review. 

of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella. 

"  The  style  is  concise  nnd  clear  ; 

and  events  are  summed  up  with  vig- 
our and  originality."—  Literary  Ga- 
zette. 

HISTORY      OP       SWITZER. 
LAND.     Edited   by  the   Rev.  DJO. 
NYSIUS  LARDNER,  LL.D.    12mo. 

"  A  valuable  epitome  of  French 
History  :    the  author's  impartiality 
and  temper  are   highly  commenda- 
ble."— Asiatic  Journal. 

"  A  very  good  and  clear  history  of 
a  remarkable  country  and   people." 
—  Leeds  Mercury. 
"Historical  facts  are  candidly  and 

HISTORY  OP   THE   NETHER- 
LANDS to  the  Revolution  of  1830. 

fairly  stated  ;  and  the  author  displays 
throughout  a  calm  and  philosophical 

By  T.  C.  GRATTAN,  Esq.     12mo. 
"  We  have  seldom  perused  a  vol- 
ume of  history  more  pregnant  with 
interesting  matter,  or  more  enlivened 

spirit."  —  Monthly  Magazine. 
"  We  cannot  quit  the  volume  with- 
out commending  it  for  the  spirit  of 
truth   and   fairness  which  is  every 

by  a  style  combining  vigour,  ease, 

' 

and   sobriety."  —  Gentleman's  Maga- 

HISTORY   OP    THE    ITALIAN 

zine. 

REPUBLICS.     By   J.    C.   L.  DB 

"  A  compressed,  but  clear  and  im- 

SISHONUI.   12mo. 

partial  narrative."—  Literary  Gazette. 

"  We    warmly   recommend    this 

HISTORY    OP    ENGLAND    to 
the  Seventeenth   Century.     By  Sir 

book  to  all  who  read  history  with  an 
eye  to  instruction.     We  have  met 

JAMBS  MACKINTOSH.    3  vols.  I2mo. 

with  no  recent  historical  work  which 

'•  Contains  more  thought  and  more 

is  written  in  so  excellent  a  spirit."  — 

lessons  of  wisdom   than   any  other 

Scotsman. 

history  with  which  we  are  acquaint- 
ed.   The  most  candid,  the  most  ju- 

" The  struggles  of  Italy  for  free- 
dom, the  glories  she  acquired,  and 

dicious,  and  the  most  pregnant  with 
thought,  and  moral  and  political  wis 

her  subsequent  misfortunes,  are  pow- 
erfully sketched   in  this  work."— 

dom,  of  any  in  which  our  domestic 

Gentleman's  Magazine, 

Valuable     Standard     Worm  ^ 


HISTORY. 

HISTORICAL  AND  DESCRIP- 

XENOPHON. (ANABASIS,  trans- 

TIVE   ACCOUNT    OF    PERSIA. 

lated  by  EDWARD  SPEI.MAN,   Esq., 

From  the  earliest  Period  to  the  pres- 

CVROP^EDIA,  by   the    Hon.   M.   A. 

ent  Time.     With  a  detailed  View  of 

COOPER  )    2  vols.   18mo.    With  a 

its  Resources,  Government,  Popula- 

Portrait. 

tion,  Natural  History,  and  the  Char- 
acter of  its  Inhabitants,  particularly 
of  the  Wandering  Tribes;  including 

LIVY.     Translated  by  GEORCB 
BAKER.  A.M.    5  vols.  18mo.    With 
a  Portrait. 

a   Description  of  Afghanistan.     By 
JAMES    B.    ERASER,    Esq.      J8mo. 
With  a  Map,  &c. 

HERODOTUS.    Translated    by 
the  Rev.  WILLIAM  BCLOE.    3  vols. 

HISTORICAL   VIEW  OF  THK 

18mo.    With  a  Portrait. 

PROGRESS  OP  DISCOVERY  ON 

ATHENS:      ITS     RISE     AND 

THE    NORTHERN    COASTS   OF 
NORTH    AMERICA,     from    the 
earliest  Period  to  the  present  Time. 

FALL  :  with  Views  of  the  Litera- 
ture, Philosophy,  and  Social  Life  of  | 
the  Athenian  People.     By  Sir  LYT- 

By  P.  F.  TVTLEB,  Esq.     With  De- 

TON  BULWER,  M.P.,  M.A.    2  vols. 

scriptire  Sketches  of   the  Natural 

12mo. 

History  of  the  North  American  Re- 

A HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 

gions.    By  Professor  WILSON.  18mo. 

By  WILLIAM  DUNLAP.  2  vols.  18ino. 

With  a  Map,  &c. 

Engravings. 

NUBIA       AND       ABYSSINIA. 

THK   HISTORY  OF  GREECE. 

Comprehending  the  Civil  History, 

By  Dr.  GOLDSMITH.     Edited  by  the 

Antiquities,  Arts,  Religion,  Litera- 

Author of  "  American  Popular  Les- 

ture, and  Natural  History.     By  the 

sons."    18mo. 

Rev.   M.   RUSSELL,   LL.D.     18mo. 
With  a  Map  and  Engravings. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  ROME.    By 
Dr.  GOLDSMITH.     Edited  by  H.  W. 

A  COMPEND/OL'S  HISTORY 

HERBERT,  Esq.     18mo. 

cf  ITALY.     Translated  from   the 
irigiml    Italian.      By    NATHANIEL 
SBBE.VB.     18nio. 

A  HISTORV  OF  THE  UNITED 
STATES.    By  the  Hon.  S.  HALB. 
2  vols.  18tno. 

THE  CHINESE.    Ag*neral  De- 
scription  of  theJEmpireof  China  and 
its  Inhabitants.     By  JOHN  FRANCIS 
Dvris,  F.R.S.    2  vols.  l&no.    \Vjifa  ( 

AN     HISTORICAL    AND    DE- 
SCRIPTIVE      ACCOUNT       OF 
BRITISH     AMERICA;     compre- 
hending Canada,  Upper  and  Lower, 

Ei.^ravings. 

5«ova  Scotia,  New-Brunswick,  New- 

An  HISTORICAL  ACCOUNT 
OF    THE    CIRCUMNAVIGATION 

foundland,    Prince   Edward   Island, 
the  Bermudas,  and  the  For  Coun- 

OF THE  GLOBE,  and  of  the  Prog- 
ress   of    Discovery  in    the    Pacific 
Ocean,  from  the  Voyage  of  Magel- 
lan to  the  Death  of  Cook.     1  81110. 

tries  :  their  History  from  the  earli- 
est Settlement  ;  their  Statistics,  To- 
pography,    Commerce,      Fisheries, 
&c.  ;  and  their  Social  and  Political 

With  numerous  Engravings. 

Condition;  as  also  an  Account  of  the 

UNIVERSAL  HISTORY,  from 
the  Creation  of  the  World  to  the  De- 

Manners and    present  State  of  the 
Aboriginal  Tribes.     By  HUGH  MUR- 

cease of  George  HI.,  1820.     By  the 

RAY,  F.R.S.  E.    2  vols.  18mo. 

Hon.  ALEXANDER  FRASKR  TYTLER 

THE  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

and  Rev.  E.  NARES,  D.D.     Edited 

By  THOMAS   KEIGHTLEY.    4  vols. 

by  an  American.    6  vols.  18mo. 

18mo. 

SALLUST.    Translated  by  WIL- 

HISTORY   OF    THK    EXPEDI- 

LIAM ROSE,  M.A.    With  Improve- 

TION TO  RUSSIA  undertaken  by 

ments.     IHino. 

the   Emperor  Napoleon.     By   Gen- 

CAESAR.    Translated  by  WIL- 

eral Count  PHILIP  DB  SEGUB.    2 

LIAM  DUNCAN.    2  vols.  18mo.    With 

vols.  18mo. 

a  Portrait. 

HISTORY  or  THE  FINE  ARTS, 

THUCYDIDES.    Translated  by 

viz.  :  Architecture,  Sculpture,  Paint- 

WILLIAM   SMITH,    A.M.      2    vols. 

ing,  Engraving,  &c.    By  B.  J.  LOS- 

]  8mo.     With  a  Portrait. 

SING,  Esq.     18mo. 

Published    by    Harper    «f    Brothtrt. 


S  T  O  R  Y. B  I  O  G  R  A  P  H  Y. 


TALES  FROM  HISTORY.  By 
AGNES  STRICKLAND.  2  vols.  ]8mo. 

TALKS  FROM  AMERICAN 
HISTORY.  By  the  Auihor  of 
"  American  Popular  Lessons."  3 
vols.  18mo.  With  Engravings. 

UNCLE  PHILIP'S  CONVER- 
SATIONS WITH  THK  CHILDREN 
ABOUT  THE  HISTORY  OF  V1R- 
GINIA.  18mo.  With  Engravings. 

UNCLE  PHILIP'S  CONVER- 
SATIONS WITH  THE  CHILDREN 
ABOUT  THE  HISTORY  OF  NEW- 
YOKK.  2  vols.  18mo.  Engravings. 


TALES  OF  THE  AMERICAN 
REVOLUTION.  By  B.  B.  THATCH- 
ER, Esq.  I8mo.  Engravings. 

UNCLE  PHILIP'S  CONVER- 
SATIONS WITH  THE  CHILDRKN 

ABOUT  THB  HISTORY  OF  MAS- 
SACHUSETTS.    2  vols.   18mo. 

Engravings. 

UNCLK  PHILIP'S  CONVER- 
SATIONS WITH  THE  CHILDRKN 
ABOUT  THE  HISTORY  OF  NEW- 
HAMPSHIRE.  2  vols.  18mo.  En- 
gravings. 


BIOGRAPHY. 


PLUTARCH'S  LIVES.  Trans- 
lated from  the  original  Greek,  with 
Notes,  critical  and  historical,  and  a 
Life  of  Plutarch.  By  JOHN  LANG- 
HORNE,  D.D.,  and  WILLIAM  LANG- 
HORNE,  A.M.  A  new  Edition,  care- 
fully revised  and  corrected.  8vo. 
With  Plates. 

MEMOIRS  or  THB  LIFE  AND 
CORRESPONDENCE  OF  MRS. 
HANNAH  MORE.  By  WILLIAM 
ROBERTS,  Esq.  2  vols.  12mo.  Por- 
trait 

THE  LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF 
LORD  EDWARD  FITZGER- 
ALD. By  THOMAS  MOORE.  2  vols. 
12mo. 

MEMOIRS  OF  AARON  BURR. 
With  Miscellaneous  Selections  from 
his  Correspondence.  By  M  A  TT  H  E w 
L  DAVIS.  2  vols.  8vo.  With  Por- 
traits. 

TRAITS  OF  THK  TEA-PARTY; 
being  a  MEMOIR  OF  GEORGK 
R.  T.  HE  WES,  one  of  the  last  of 
its  Survivers.  With  a  History  of 
that  Transaction  ;  Reminiscences  of 
the  Massacre  and  the  Siege,  and 
other  Stories  of  Old  Times.  By  a 
Bostonian.  18mo.  With  a  Portrait. 

WONDERFUL  CHARAC- 
TRKS;  comprising  Memoirs  and 
Anecdotes  of  the  most  Remarkable 
Persons  of  every  Age  ami  Nation. 
By  HKNRY  WILSON.  8vo.  Engra- 
vings. 

THE  LIFE  OF  JOHV  JAY;  with 
Selections  from  his  Correspondence 


and  Miscellaneous  Papers.  By  his 
Son,  WILLIAM  JAY.  2  vols.  8vo. 
With  a  Portrait 

A  MEMOIR  OF  THE  LIFE  OF 
WILLIAM  LIVINGSTON,  Mem- 
ber of  Congress  in  1774,  1775,  and 
1776  ;  Delegate  to  the  Federal  Con- 
vention in  1787,  and  Governor  of  the 
State  of  New-Jersey  from  1776  to 
1790.  With  Extracts  from  his  Cor- 
respondence, and  Notices  of  various 
Members  of  his  Family.  By  T. 
SEDGWICK,  Jun.  8vo.  Portrait. 

RECORDS  OF  MY  LIFE.  By 
JOHN  TAYLOR,  Author  of  "Monsieur 
Tonson."  8vo. 

MRMOIRS  OF  THE  DUCHESS 
D'ABRANTES  (MADAME  JUNOT). 
8vo.  With  a  Portrait. 

MEMOIRS  OF  LUCIEN  BONA- 
PARTE (Prince  of  Canino).  12mo. 

THK  LIFE  AND  REMAINS  OF 
EDWARD  DANIKL  CLARKE. 
By  the  Rev.  WILLIAM  OTTER,  A.M., 
F.L.S.  8ro. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  VIRGIL  A. 
STEWART,  and  his  Adventures  in 
capturing  and  exposing  the  Great 
"  Western  Land  Pirate"  and  his 
Gang,  in  Connexion  with  the  Evi- 
ience ;  also  of  the  Trials,  Confes- 
sions, and  Execution  of  a  Number  of 
MiirreU's  Associates  in  the  State  of 
Mississippi  during  the  Summer  of 
1835,  and  the  Execution  of  five  Pro- 
fessional Gamblers  by  the  Citizens 
of  Vicksburg,onthe6thofJuly,  1835. 
Compiled  by  H.  R.  HOWARD.  12mo. 


Valuable     Standard     Works 


BIOGRAPHY. 

PLUTARCH'S  LIVES.    Trans- 

and some  of  his  Forerunners  and 

lated  from  the  original  Greek  ;  with 

Disciples.    By  WILLIAM  L.  STONB. 

Notes,  critical  and  historical,  and  a 

18mo. 

Life  of  Plutarch.     By  JOHN  LANG- 
HOKNE,  D.D.,  and  WILLIAM  LANC- 
HORNE,A.M.    New  Edition.    4  vols. 

LIVES  OF  THE  NECROMAN- 
CERS ;  or,  an  Account  of  the  most 
Eminent  Peisonsin  Successive  Ages 

large  12rno. 

who  have  claimed  for  themselves,  or 

LETTERS    AND    JOURNALS 
OF  LORD  BYRON.    With  Notices 

to  whom  has  been  imputed  by  others, 
the  Exercise  of  Magical  Power.    By 

of  his  Life.     By  THOMAS   MOORE, 

WILLIAM  GODWIN.     12mo. 

Esq.    2  vols.  8vo.    With  a  Portrait. 
THK  PRIVATE   JOURNAL  or 

SKETCHES  AND  ECCENTRI- 
CIT1ES  OF  COL.  DAVID  CROCK- 

AARON  BURR,  during   his  Resi- 

ETT.    12mo. 

dence  in    Europe,  with   Selections 
from    his   Correspondence.     Edited 
by  M.  L.  DAVIS.     2  vols.  8vo. 

ANECDOTES   OF   SIR  WAL- 
TER   SCOTT.      By    the    Ettrick 
Shepherd.     With  a  Life  of  the  Au- 

SKETCHES OF  THE  LIFE  AND 
CHARACTER     OF     THE     REV. 

thor,  by   S.   DEWITT   BLOODGOOD, 
Esq.     12mo. 

LEMUEL    HAYNES,    A.M.     By 
TIMOTHY   MATHER   COOLEY,    D.D. 
With  some   Inlroductory  Remarks, 

THE  LIFE  OF  BARON  CUVI- 
ER.     By  Mrs.  LEE.    12mo. 

by    WILLIAM    B.    SPRAGUE,    D.D. 

THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER,  AND 

12mo.     With  a  Portrait. 

LITERARY  LABOURS  or  SAM- 

LIFE   OF     EDMUND    KEAN. 

UEL  DREW,  A.M.     By  his  eldest 

By  BARRY  CORNWALL.     12mo. 

Son.     12mo. 

LIFE  OF  MRS.  SIDDONS.    By 
THOMAS  CAMPBELL.    12mo.    With 

MY  IMPRISONMENTS:   ME- 
MOIRS   OF    SILVIO    PELLICO 
DA  SALUZZO.     Translated  from 

THE  LIFE  or  WICKLIF.    By 

the   Italian.     By  THOMAS  ROSCOE. 
12mo. 

CHARLES    WEBB    LE    BAS,    A.M. 
18mo.     With  a  Portrait. 
LUTHER  AND  THK  LUTHER. 
AN    REFORMATION.     By    Rev. 

THE    LIFE    OF    NAPOLEON 
BONAPARTE.     By   J.    G.   LOCK- 
HAKT,   Esq.     2  vols.   18mo.    With 
Portraits. 

JOHN  SCOTT,  A.M.    2  vols.   18mo. 
Portraits. 

THE  LIFE   OF   NELSON.    By 

THE  LIFE   OF   ARCHBISHOP 

ROBERT    SOUTHEY,   LL.D.     18mo. 
With  a  Portrait. 

CRANMER.     By  CHARLES  WEBB 
Le  BAS,  A.M.    2  vols.  18mo.    With 
a  Portrait. 

THE  LIFE  AND  ACTIONS  OF 
ALEXANDER  THE  GREAT.    By 

THE   RELIGIOUS   OPINIONS 

the  Kev.  J.  WILLIAMS.    18mo.   With 
a  Map. 

AND    CHARACTER    OF    WASH- 
INGTON.   ByRev.E.C.M'GuiRE. 
12mo. 

THE  LIFE  OF  LORD  BYRON. 
By  JOHN  GALT.     ]8mo. 

A  LIFE  OF  GEORGE  WASH- 
INGTON.     In    Latin    Prose.     By 
FRANCIS   GLASS,    A.M.,    of   Ohio. 
Edited  by  J.  N.  REYNOLDS.    12mo. 
Portrait. 

THE  LIFE    OF    MOHAMMED, 
Founder  of  the   Keligion  of  Fslam, 
and  of  the  Empire  of  the  Saracens. 
By  the  Rev.  GKORGE  BUSH,  of  New- 
York.     18:no.    Engravings. 

THE  LIFE  OF  ANDREW  JACK- 

THE    LIFE    AND    TIMES    OF 

SON,  President  of  the  United  States 

GEORGE  THE  FOURTH.     With 

of   America.     By    WILLIAM    COB- 

Anecdotes  of  Distinguished  Persons 

BETT,   M.P.     18mo.    With  a  Por- 

of the   last   Fifty  Years.     By  Rev. 

trait. 

GEORGE  CROLV.     18mo. 

MATTHIAS   AND   HIS  IMPOS- 

LIVES     OF     THE    MOST     EMI- 

TURKS ;  or,  the  Progress  of  Fa- 

NENT PAINTERS  AND  SCULP- 

naticism.    Illustrated  in  the  Extra- 

TORS.   By  ALLAN  CUNNINGHAM, 

ordinary  Case  of  Robert  Matthews, 

Esq.    5  vols.  I8mo.    With  Portraits. 

Publithed    by    Harptr    cf-    Broth  err. 


BIOGRAPHY. 

THE  LIFE  OF  MARY,  QUEEN 

THE   PURSUIT    or    KNOWL- 

OF   SCOTS.     By  HENRY    GI.ASS- 

EDGE    UNDER    DIFFICULTIES; 

FORD    BEI.I.,   Esq.      2  vols.  18mo. 

its   Pleasures  and  Rewards.     Illus- 

With a  Portrait. 

trated  by  Memoirs  of  Eminent  Men. 

MEMOIRS  OF  THE  EMPRESS 

2  vols.  18mo. 

JOSEPHINE.   ByJoHNS.MEMEs, 

THE  LIFE  AND  TRAVELS  OF 

LL.D.     18mo.     With  Portraits. 

MUNGO  PARK  ;  to  which  is  add- 

LIFE   OF    SIR    ISAAC    NEW- 
TON.    By  Sir  DAVIO  BREWSTER, 
K.B.,  LL.D..F.R.S.     18mo.     With 

ed  an  Account  of  his  Death  from  the 
Journal  of  Isaaco,  and  the  Substance 
of  later  Discoveries  relative  to  his 

Engravings. 

lamented  Fate.    18mo.    Engravings. 

THE    COURT   AND    CAMP    OF 

AMERICAN         BIOGRAPHY. 

BONAPARTE.      18mo.      With    a 

Edited  by  JARED  SPARKS,  Esq.     10 

Portrait. 

vols.  12mo.    With  a  Portrait  in  each 

LIVES     AND     VOYAGES     OF 

volume. 

DRAKE,       CAVENDISH,      AND 

I.  Life  of  John  Stark,  by  Edward 

DAM  PIER.     Including  an  Introduc- 
tory View  of  the  Earlier  Discoveries 

Everett.—  Life  of  Charles  Brockden 
Brown,  by  William  H.  Prescott.— 

in  the  South  Seas,  and  the  History 

Life  of  Richard  Montgomery,  hy  J. 

of  the  Bucaniers.    18mo.    With  Por- 

Armstrong.— Life  of  Ethan  Allen,  by 

traits. 

Jared  Sparks. 

MEMOIRS  OF  CELEBRATED 

II.  Life  of  Alexander  Wilson,  by 

FEMALE     SOVKREIGNS.      By 
Mrs.  JAMESON.    2  vols.  18mo. 

Wm.  B.  0.  Peabody.  -Life  of  Cap- 
tain John  Smith,  by  George  S.  Hil- 

LIVES      OF      CELEBRATED 

liard. 

TRAVELLERS.     By   JAMES    AU- 

III. Life  and  Treason  of  Benedict 

GUSTUS  ST.  JOHN.    3  vols.  18mo. 

Arnold,  by  Jared  Sparks. 

LIFE    OF    FREDERICK     THE 
SECO/D,   King  of   Prussia.      By 
Lord  DOVER.    2  vols.  18mo.     With 

IV.  Life  of  Anthony  Wayne,  by 
John  Armstrong.  —  Life  of  Sir  Henry 
Vane,  by  C.  W.  Upham. 

a  Portrait. 

V,  Life  of  John  Eliot,  the  Apostle 

INDIAN  BIOGRAPHY;  or,  an 

to  the  Indians,  by  Convers  Francis. 

Historical  Account  of  those  Individ- 
uals who  have  been   distinguished 
among  the  North  American  Natives 
as  Orators,  Warriors,  Statesmen,  and 
other  Remarkable  Characters.     By 

VI.  Life  of  William  Pinkney,  by 
Henry  Wheaton.—  Life  of   William 
Ellery,  by  E.  T.  Channing.—  Life  of 
Cotton  Mather,  by  Wm.  B.  0.  Pea- 
body. 

B.    B.    THATCHER,    Esq.      2    vols. 

VII.  Life  of  Sir  William  Phips,by 

HISTORY      OF      CHARLE- 
MAGNE.   To  which  is  prefixed  an 
Introduction,  comprising  the  History 
of  France  from  the  earliest  Period 
to  the  Birth  of  Charlemagne.     By 
G.  P.  R.  JAMES.     18mo.     Portrait. 
THE  LIFE  OF  OLIVER  CROM- 
WELL.    By  the  Rev.  M.  RUSSELL, 
LL  D.    2  vols.  ISino.     Portrait 

Francis  Bowen.  —  Life  of  Israel  Put- 
nam, by   W.  B.  0.  Peabody.—  Me- 
moir of  Lucretia  Maria  Davidson,  by 
Miss  Sedgwick.—  Life  of  David  Rit- 
tenhouse,  by  James  Renwick. 
VIII.  Life  of  Jonathan  Edwards, 
by  Samuel   Miller.-  Life  of  David 
Brainerd,  by  Wm.  B.  O.  Peabody. 
IX.  Life  of   Baron    Steuben,  by 

MEMOIR    OF    THE    LIFE    OF 
PETER  THE  GREAT.     By  JOHN 
BARROW,  Esq.    18mo.     Portrait. 

Francis  Bowen.  —  Life  of  Sebastian 
Cabot,  by  Charles   Hayward,  Jr.— 
Life  of  William  Eaton,  by  Cornelius 
C.  Felton. 

A    LIFE    OF    WASHINGTON. 

X.  Life  of  Robert  Fulton,  by  Pro- 

By J.  K.  PAULDING,  Esq.    2  vols. 
18mo.     With  Engravings. 

fessor    Renwick.  —  Life    of    Henry^ 
Hudson,  by  Henry  R.  Cleveland.  — 

THE    LIFE    AND    WORKS    OF 

Life  of  Joseph  Warren,  by  Alexan- 

DR.  FRANKLIN.     2  vols.   18mo. 

der  H.  Everett—  Life  of  Father  Mar- 

With  a  Portrait. 

quette,  by  Jared  Sparks. 

Valuable     Standard     Works 


B  I  O  G  R  A    P  H  V. V  OYAGE8,       TRAVELS,       ETC. 


LIVES  OF  THE  SIGNERS  OF 
THE  DKCLARATION  OF  INDE- 
PENDENCE. By  N.  DWIGHT. 
12mo. 

BIOGRAPHIES  OP  DISTIN- 
GUISHED FEMALES.  2  vols. 
18mo. 

EXEMPLARY  AND  INSTRUC- 
TIVE BIOGRAPHY.  3  vols.  18mo. 

LIFE  AND  CORRESPOND- 
ENCE OF  DEWITT  CLINTON. 
By  Professor  RENWICK.  18mo.  Por- 
trait. 

LIFE  AND  CORRESPOND- 
ENCE OF  GENERAL  ALEXAN- 


DER HAMILTON.  By  Professor 
RENWICK.  18mo. 

LIFE  AND  CORRESPOND- 
ENCE OF  GOVERNOR  JOHN 
JAY.  By  Professor  RENWICK. 
18mo. 

LIVES  OF  THE  APOSTLES 
AND  EARLY  MARTYRS  OF  THE 
CHORCH.  18nx>.  Engraving. 

SKETCHES  OF  TUB  LIVES  OF 
DISTINGUISHED  FEMALES. 
Written  for  Young  Ladies,  with  a 
View  to  their  Mental  and  Moral  Im- 
provement. By  an  American  Lady. 
18mo.  Portrait. 


VOYAGES,    TRAVELS,    &c. 


LETTERS  FROM  THE  OLD 
WORLD.  By  a  Lady  of  New-York. 
2  vols.  12mo. 

TRAVELS  IN  THE  UNITED 
STATES  during  the  Years  1834,  5, 
6,  including  a  Summer  Residence 
with  the  Pawnee  Indians  and  a  Visit 
to  Cuba  and  the  Azores.  By  the 
Hon.  CHARLES  AUGUSTUS  MURRAY. 
2  vol*  12mo. 

EMBASSY  TO  THE  EASTERN 
COURTS  OP  SI  AM,  COCHIN- 
CHINA,  AND  MUSCAT.  By  ED- 
MUND ROBERTS.  8vo. 

VOYAGE  OP  THE  UNITED 
STATES  FRIGATE  POTOMAC, 
under  the  command  of  Com.  John 
Downes,  during  the  Circumnaviga- 
tion of  the  Globe,  in  the  years  1831, 
1832,  1833,  and  1834;  including  a 
particular  Account  of  the  Engage- 
ment atQuallah-Battoo,  on  the  coast 
of  Sumatra;  with  all  the  official 
Documents  relating  to  the  same. 
By  J.  N.  REYNOLDS.  8vo.  With 
Engravings. 

TRAVELS  IN  EUROPE:  viz., 
in  England,  Ireland,  Scotland, 
France,  Italy,  Switzerland,  some 
parts  of  Germany,  and  the  Nether- 
lands, during  the  Years  1835  and  '36. 
By  WILBUR  FISK,  D.D.  8vo.  En- 
gravings. 

RETROSPECT  OF  WEST- 
ERN TRAVEL.  By  Miss  HAR- 
RIET MARTINEAU.  2  vols.  12mo. 


THE  FAR  WEST ;  or,  a  Tour 
beyond  the  Mountains.  2  vols. 
12mo. 

INCIDENTS  OF  TRAVEL  IN 
EGYPT,  ARABIA  PETR^EA, 
AXD  THB  HOLY  LAND.  By  au 
American.  2  vols.  12mo.  Engra- 
vings. 

INCIDENTS  OF  TRAVEL  IN 
GREECE,  TURKEY,  RUSSIA, 
AND  POLAND.  By  the  Author  of 
"  Incidents  of  Travel  in  Egypt,  Ara- 
bia Petraea,  and  the  Holy  Land."  2 
vols.  12mo.  Engravings. 

A  YEAR  IN  SPAIN.  By  a 
Young  American.  3  vols.  12mo. 
Engravings.  • 

SPAIN  REVISITED.  By  the 
Author  of  "  A  Year  in  Spain."  2 
vols.  12mo.  Engravings. 

THB  AMERICAN  IN  ENG- 
LAND. By  the  Author  of  "A  Year 
in  Spain."  2  vols.  12mo. 

TRAVELS  AXD  RESEARCH- 
ES IN  CAFFRARIA;  describing 
the  Character,  Customs,  and  Moral 
Condition  of  the  Tribes  inhabiting 
that  Portion  of  Southern  Afrita. 
By  STKPHEN  KAY.  12mo.  Map, 
&c. 

POLYNESIAN  RESEARCH- 
ES, during  a  Residence  of  nearly 
eight  Years  in  tbe  Society  and  Sand- 
wich Islands.  By  WILLIAM  ELLIS. 
4  vols.  12mo.  Maps,  &c. 


Published    by    Harper    <f    Brothers. 


VOYAGES,       TRAVELS,       ETC. 

GREAT  BRITAIN,  FRANCE. 

SKETCHES   or   TURKEY  in 

AND  BELGIUM.     A  short  Tour  in 

1831    and    1832.     By  an  American. 

1835.    By  HITMAN  HUMPHREY,  D.D. 

8vo.     Engravings. 

2  vols.  12mo. 

LETTERS  FROM  THE  AEGEAN. 

A     NARRATIVE     OF     FOUR 

By  JAMES  EMERSON,  Esq.    8>ro. 

VOYAGES  to  the  South  Sea,  North 

FOUK    YEARS     IN     GREAT 

and  South  Pacific  Ocean,  Chinese 
Sea,  Kthiopic  and  Southern  Atlantic 

BRITAIN.    By   CALVIN   COLTON. 

12mo 

Ocean,  ana  Antarctic  Ocean.    From 
the  Year  1822  to  1831.     Comprising 
an  Account  of  some  valuable  Discov- 

THE   SOUTHWEST.      By    ft 
Yankee.    2  vols.  12mo. 

eries,   including   the   Massacre   Isl- 

THE  RAMBLER    IN    NORTH 

ands,  where  thirteen  of  the  Author's 

AMERICA.     By  C.  J.  LATROBE, 

Crew  were  massacred  and  eaten  by 

Author  of  the  "  Alpenstock,"  &c.    2 

Cannibals.      By    Capt.    BENJAMIN 

vols.  12mo. 

MORRELL,  Jun.    8vo. 

THE  RAMBLER  IN  MEXICO. 

NARK  ATI  VE   OF   A    VOYAGE 

By  C.  J.  LATROBE.     12mo. 

TO  THE  SOUTH  SEAS.  in  1829-31. 

A  NARRATIVE  OF  THK  VISIT 

By  ABBY  JANE  MORKKI.L,  who  ac- 

TO THE   AMERICAN    CHURCH- 

companied her  husband,  Capt.  Ben- 
jamin Morrell,  Jun.,  of  the  Schooner 

ES,  by  the  Deputation  from  the  Con- 
gregational  Union  of  England  and 

Antarctic.     12mo. 

Wales.     By  ANDREW  REED,  D.D., 

PARIS  AND  THE   PARISIANS, 

and  JAMES  MATHESON,  D.D.    2  vols. 

in   1835.     By  FRANCES  TROLLOPE. 

12mo. 

8vo.    Engravings. 

CONSTANTINOPLE  AND  ITS 

THE     NARRATIVE     OF     AR- 

ENVIRONS.   In  a  Series  of  Let- 

THUR GORDON   PYM   of  Nan- 

ters,  exhibiting  the  actual  State  of 

tucket.    Comprising  the  Details  of  a 
Mutiny  and  atrocious  Butchery  on 
board  the  American  Brig  Grampus, 

the  Manners,  Customs,  and  Habits 
of  the  Turks,  Armenians,  Jews,  and 
Greeks,  as  modified  by  the  policy  of 

on  her  way  to  the  South  Seas,  in  the 
Month  of  June,  1827.     With  an  Ac- 
count of  the  Recapture  of  the  Ves- 

Sultan Mahmoud.    By  an  American, 
long     resident     at    Constantinople 
(Commodore  PORTER).    In  2  vols. 

sel   by   the   Survivers  ;  their   Ship- 

12mo. 

wreck  and  subsequent  horrible  Suf- 

THE TOURIST,  or  Pocket  Man- 

ferings from  Famine  ;  their  Deliver- 

ual for  Travellers  on  the   Hudson 

ance  by  means  of  the  British  Schoon- 

River, the  Western  Canal  and  Stage 

er  Jane  Guy  ;  the  brief  cruise  of  this 

Road  to  Niagara  Falls,  down  Lake 

latter  Vessel  in  the  Antarctic  Ocean  ; 

Ontorio  and  the   St.   Lawrence  to 

her  Capture,  and   the   Massacre  of 

Montreal  and  Quebec.     Comprising 

her  Crew,  among  a  Group  of  Islands 

also  the  Routes  to   Lebanon,  Ball- 

in  the  eighty-fourth  Parallel  of  South- 
ern Latitude;  together  with  the  in- 

ston, and  Saratoga  Springs.     18mo. 
With  a  Map. 

credible  Adventures  and  Discoveries 
still  farther  South  to  which  that  dis- 
tressing Calamity  gave  rise.     12mo. 

NARRATIVE  OF  VOYAGES  TO 
EXPLORE    THE     SHORES     OF 
AFRICA,   ARABIA,  AND   MADA- 

NARRATIVE OF  AN  EXPEDI- 

GASCAR;   performed    in    H.    M. 

TION  THROUGH  THE  UPPER  MIS- 

Ships Leven  and  Barracouta,  under 

SISSIPPI  TO  ITASCA  LAKE,  the 

the  Direction  of  Captain  W.  F.  W. 

actual  Source  of  this  River;  embra- 

OWEN, R.N.    2  vols.  12mo.    , 

cing  an   Exploratory  Trip  through 

A  WINTER    IN    THE   WEST. 

the   St.   Croix   and   Burntwood  (or 

By  a  New-Yorker  (C.  F.  HOFFMAN, 

Broule)    Rivers.       By    HENRY    R. 

Esq.).    2  vols.  12mo. 

SCHOOLCRAFT.    8vo.    Maps. 

OBSERVATIONS     ON     PRO- 

A    HOME     TOUR     THROUGH 
THE     MANUFACTURING     DIS- 

FESSIONS,      LITERATURE, 
MANNERS,  AND  EMIGRATION 

TRICTS  OF  ENGLAND.    By  Sir 

in  the   United   States  and  Canada. 

GEORGE  HEAD.    12mo. 

By  the  Rev.  ISAAC  FIOLER.     12mo. 

Valuable     Standard      Work* 


AN  IMPROVED  MAP  OF  THK 

DESCRIPTION    OF     PIT- 

HUDSON  RIVEK,  with  the  Post 

CAIRN'S   ISLAND,  and  its  Inhab- 

Roads between  New-York  and  Al- 

itants.    With  an  Authentic  Account 

bany. 

of  the  Mutiny  of  the  Ship  Bounty, 

THINGS  AS  THEY  ARE;  or, 

and  of  the  subsequent  Fortunes  of 

Notes  of  a  Traveller  through  some 

the    Mutineers.      By    J.    BARROW, 

of  the  Middle  and  Northern  States. 

Esq.     18mo.     Engravings. 

12mo.     Engravings. 

JOURNAL    OF     AN     EXPEDI- 

VISITS  AND   SKETCHES   AT 
HOME     AND     ABROAD.      With 

TION     TO      EXPLORE     THE 
COURSE    AND    TERMINATION 

Tales  and  Miscellanies  now  first  col- 
lected, and  a  new   Edition   of  the 

OF  THE   NIGER.     With  a  Narra- 
tive of  a  Voyage  down  that  River  to 

"  Diary  of  an  Ennuyee."    By  Mrs. 
JAMESON.    2  vols.  12mo. 

its  Termination.     By  RICHARD  and 
JOHN  LANDER.    2  vols.  18mo.    En- 

A       SUBALTERN'S        FUR- 
LOUGH:   Descriptive   of  Scenery 
in  various  parts  of  the  United  States, 
Upper    and    Lower  Canada,   New- 
Brunswick,  and  Nova  Scotia,  during 
the  Summer  and  Autumn  of  1832. 
By  E.  T.  CORK,  Lieutenant  of  the 
45th  Regiment.    2  vols.  12mo. 
NARRATIVE  OF  DISCOVERY 
AND  ADVENTURE   IN   THE   PO- 
LAR SEAS  AND  REGIONS.  With 

gravings. 
THE    TRAVELS    AND    RE- 
SEARCHKS    OF    ALEXANDER 
VON  HUMBOLDT;   being  a  con- 
densed Narrative  of  his  Journeys  in 
the  Equinoctial  Regions  of  America, 
and  in  Asiatic  Russia  :  together  with 
Analyses  of  his  more  important  In- 
vestigations.      By    W.    MACGILLI- 
VKAY,  A.M.     18mo.     Engravings. 
PARRY'S       VOYAGES       AND 

Illustrations  of  their  Climate,  Geolo- 
gy, and  Natural  History,  and  an  Ac- 
count of  the   Whale-Fishery.      By 

JOURNEY          TOWARDS           THB 

NORTH    POLE.      2   vols.    18mo. 
Engravings. 

Professors    LESLIE   and    JAMESON, 

PERILS    OF    THE    SEA;  being 

and  HUGH  MURRAY.    18mo.    With 

Authentic  Narratives  of  Remarka- 

Maps, &c. 

ble  and  Affecting  Disasters  upon  the 

NARRATIVE  OF  DISCOVERY 

AND  ADVENTURE  IN   AFRICA. 

Deep.      With    Illustrations    of   the 
Power  and  Goodness  of  God  in  won- 

From the  earliest  Ages  to  the  pres- 

derful  Preservations.     18mo.     En- 

ent Time.     With  Illustrations  of  its 

gravings. 

Geology,  Mineralogy,  and  Zoology. 

CAROLINE      WESTERLEY; 

WILSON  and  HUGH  MURRAY,  Esqrs. 

By  Mrs.  PHELPS  (formerly  Mrs.  LIN- 

L8mo. 

COLN).     18mo.     Engravings. 

THEOLOGY,    &c. 

THB  WORKS   or   THE    REV. 

EVIDENCE  OF    THK  TRUTH 

ROBERT   HALL,   A.M.    With   a 

OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  RELIGION, 

brief  Memoir  of  his  Life,  by  Dr. 

derived  from  the  literal  Fulfilment  of 

GKEGOKY,  and  Observations  on  hi? 

Prophecy.    By  the  Rev.  ALEXANDER 

Character  as  a  Preacher,  by  the  Rev. 

KEITH.     12mo. 

JOHN    FOSTER.     Edited  by  OLIN- 

DEMONSTRATION     OF     THB 

THUS  GREGORY,  LL.D.    3  vols.  8vo. 

TRUTH    OF     THE    CHRISTIAN 

Portrait. 

RELIGION.      By    ALEX.    KEITH, 

ESSAYS     ON     THE     PRINCI- 

D.D.     12mo.    Engravings. 

PLKS  OF  MORALITY,  and  on  the 

THE    HARMONY    OF   CHRIS- 

Private and  Political  Rights  and  Ob- 

TIAN  FAITH  AND  CHRISTIAN 

ligations  of  Mankind.    ByJoNATHAN 

CHA  RACTER,  and  the  Culture  and 

DVMOND.     With  a   Preface  by  the 

Discipline  of  the  Mind.     By  JOHN 

Rev.  GEORGB  BUSH,  M.A.    8vo. 

ABERCROMBIE,  M.D.    18mo. 

10 


Published    By    Harper    <£     Brothers. 


THEOLOGY.       ETC. 


INSTITUTES  OF  ECCLESI- 
ASTICAL HISTORY,  Ancient  and 
Modern,  in  four  Books,  much  Cor- 
rected, Enlarged,  and  Improved, 
from  the  Primary  Authorities,  by 
JOHN  LAWRENCE  VON  MOSHEIM, 
D.D.,  Chancellor  of  the  University 
of  Gottingen.  A  new  and  literal 
Translation  from  the  original  Latin, 
with  copious  additional  Notes,  ori- 
ginal and  selected.  By  JAMES  MUR- 
DOCK,  D.D.  3  vols.  8vo. 

A  HISTORY  OP  THE  CHURCH, 
from  the  earliest  Ages  to  the  Refor- 
mation. By  the  Rev.  GEORGE  WAD- 
DINGTON,  M.A.  8vo. 

PRIDEAUX'S  CONNEXIONS ; 
or,  the  Old  and  New  Testaments 
connected,  in  the  History  of  the 
Jews  and  neighbouring  Nat  ions,  from 
the  Declension  of  the  Kingdoms  of 
Israel  and  Judah  to  the  Time  of 
Christ.  By  HUMPHREY  PRIPEAUX, 
D.D.  New  Edition.  2  vols.  8vo. 
With  Maps  and  Engravings. 

HISTORY  OF  PRIESTCRAFT 
in  all  Ages  and  Countries.  By  WIL- 
LIAM HOWITT.  12mo. 


A  NARRATIVE   OF  EVENTS 

CONNECTED   WITH    THE    RISE    AND 

PROGRKSS  OF  THE  PROTES- 
TANT EPISCOPAL  CHURCH 
IN  VIRGINIA.  To  which  is  added 
an  Appendix,  containing  the  Jour- 
nals of  the  Conventions  in  Virginia 
from  the  Commencement  to  the  pres- 
ent Time.  By  F.  L.  HAWKS.  8vo. 

LUTHER  AND  THB  LUTHER- 
AN Rfc^FORMATION.  By  the 
Rev.  JOHN  SCOTT,  A.M.  2  vols. 
18mo.  Portraits. 

HISTORY  OF  THB  REFORM- 
ED RELIGION  IK  FRANCE. 
By  the  Rev.  E.  SMEDLEY.  3  vols. 
18mo.  Engravings. 

HISTORY  OF  THE  BIBLE.  By 
the  Rev.  G.  R.  GLEIQ.  2  vols. 
18mo.  Map. 

SACRED  HISTORY  OF  THE 
WORLD,  as  displayed  in  the  Crea- 
tion and  Subsequent  Events  to  the 
Deluge.  Attempted  to  be  Philo- 
sophically considered  in  a  Series  of 
Letters  to  a  Son.  By  SHARON 
TURNER,  F.S.A.  3  vols.  18mo. 


NATURAL 

PALEY'S  NATURAL  THE- 
OLOGY. With  Illustrative  Notes, 
by  HENRY  LORD  BROUGHAM, 
F.R.S.,  and  Sir  CHARLES  BELL, 
K.G.H.,  F.R  S.,  L.  &  E.  With  nu- 
merous Wpodcuts.  To  which  are 
added  Preliminary  Observations  and 
Notes.  By  ALONZO  POTTER,  D.D. 
2  vols.  18mo. 

ON  THK    POWER,    WISDOM. 

AND  GOODNESS  OF  GOD,  as 

manifested  in  the  Adaptation  of  Ex- 
ternal Nature  to  the  Moral  and  In- 


tellectual Constitution  of  Man.  By 
the  Rev.  THOMAS  CHALMERS,  D.D., 
Professor  of  Divinity  in  the  Univer- 
sity of  Edinburgh.  12mo. 

THE  HAND,  its  Mechanism  and 
Vital  Endowments,  as  evincing  De- 
sign. By  Sir  CHARLRS  BKLL, 
K.G.H.,  F.R.S..&C.  12mo. 

ON  ASTRONOMY  AND  GEN- 
ERAL PHYSICS.  By  the  Rev. 
WILLIAM  WHEWELL.M.A.,F.R.S., 
&c.  12mo. 


PROTESTANT  JESUITISM. 
By  a  Protestant.  12mo. 

THOUGHTS  ON  THE  RELI- 
GIOUS STATE  OF  THE  COUN- 
TRY: with  Reasons  for  preferring 
Episcopacy.  By  the  Rev.  CALVIN 
COLTON.  12mo. 

A  CONCORDANCE  TO  THE 
HOLY  SCRIPTURES  of  the  Old 
and  New  Testaments.  By  JOHN 
BROWN,  of  Haddington.  32tno. 


THE  CONSISTENCY  OF  THK 
WHOLE  SCHKME  OF  RRVE- 
LATION  with  Itself  and  with  Hu- 
man Reason.  By  PHILIP  NICHO- 
LAS SHUTTLEWORTH,  D.D.  18mo. 

HELP  TO  FAITH;  or,  a  Sum- 
mary of  the  Evidences  of  the  Gen- 
uineness, Authenticity,  Credibility, 
and  Divine  Authority  of  the  Holy 
Scriptures.  By  the  Rev.  P.  P. 
SANDFORD.  12mo. 

_ 


Valuable     Standard     Work* 


THEOLOGY,      ETC. MEDICINE,      8  U  E  G  E  E  Y,      ETC. 


A  DICTIONARY  OF  THE  HOLY 
BIBLE.  Containing  an  Historical 
Account  of  the  Persons ;  a  Geo- 
graphical and  Historical  Account  of 
the  Places  ;  a  Literal,  Critical,  and 
Systematical  Description  of  other 
Objects,  whether  Natural,  Artificial, 
Civil,  Religious,  or  Military ;  and 
an  Explanation  of  the  appellative 
Terms  mentioned  in  the  Old  and 
New  Testaments.  By  the  Rev. 
JOHN  BROWN.  With  a  Life  of  the 
Author ;  and  an  Essay  on  the  Evi- 
dence of  Christianity.  8vo. 

SRRMONS  OF  THE  REV. 
JAMES  SAURIN,  late  Pastor  of 
the  French  Church  at  the  Hague. 
From  the  French,  by  the  Rev.  ROB- 
ERT ROBINSON,  Rev  HENRY  HUN- 
TER, D.D.,  and  Rev.  JOSKPH  SUT- 
CUFFE,  A.M.  A  new  Edition,  with 
additional  Sermons.  Revised  and 
corrected  by  the  Rev.  SAMUEL  BUR- 
DER,  A.M.  With  a  likeness  of  the 
Author,  and  a  general  Index.  From 
the  last  London  Edition.  With  a 
Preface  by  the  Rev.  J.  P.  K.  HKN- 
SHAW,  D.D.  2  vols.  8vo. 


WORKS  or  THE  REV.  JOHN 
WESLEY.  10  vols.  8vo. 

A  TREATISE  ON  THE  MIL- 
LENIUM; in  which  the  prevailing 
Theories  on  that  Subject  are  care- 
fully examined  ;  and  the  true  Scrip- 
tural Doctrine  attempted  to  be  elicit- 
ed and  established.  By  GEORGE 
BUSH,  A.M.  12mo. 

THE  COMFORTER;  or,  Ex- 
tracts selected  for  the  Consolation  of 
Mourners  under  the  Bereavement  of 
Friends  and  Relations.  By  a  Vil- 
lage Pastor.  12mo. 

CHRISTIANITY  INDEPEND- 
ENT OF  THE  CIVIL  GOVERN- 
MENT. 12mo. 

SUNDAY  EVENINGS;  or,  an 
easy  Introduction  to  the  Reading  of 
the  Bible.  By  the  Author  of  "  The 
Infant  Christian's  First  Catechism." 
18mo.  Engravings. 

EVIDENCKS  OF  CHRISTIAN- 
ITY ;  or,  Uncle  Philip's  Conversa- 
tions with  the  Children  about  the 
Truth  of  the  Christian  Religion. 
18mo.  Engravings. 


MEDICINE,     SURGERY,     &c. 


THE  STUDY  OP  MEDICINE. 
By  JOHN  MASON  GOOD,  M.D., 
F.R.S.  Improved  from  the  Author's 
Manuscripts,  and  by  Reference  to 
the  latest  Advances  in  Physiology, 
Pathology,  and  Practice.  By  SAM- 
OEI.  COOPER,  M.D.  With  Notes, 
by  A.  SIDNEY  DOANE,  A.M.,  M.D. 
To  which  is  prefixed,  a  Sketch  of 
the  History  of  Medicine,  from  its 
Origin  to  the  Commencement  of  the 
]9th  Century.  By  J.  BOSTOCK, 
M.D.,  F.R.S.  2  vols.  8vo. 

MIDWIFERY  ILLUSTRA- 
TED. By  J.  P.  MAYGRIKR.  M.D. 
Translated  from  the  French,  with 
Notes,  by  A.  SIDNEY  DOANE,  A.M., 
M.D.  With  82  Plates.  8vo. 

SURGRRY  ILLUSTRATED. 
Compiled  from  the  Works  of  Cutler, 
Hind,  Velpeau,  and  Blasius.  By  A. 
SIDNEY  DOANE,  A.M.,  M.D.  With 
52  Plates.  8vo. 

A  TREATISE  ON  TOPO- 
GRAPHICAL ANATOMY;  or, 

"  13 


the  Anatomy  of  the  Regions  of  the 
Human  Body,  considered  in  its  Re 
lations  with  Surgery  and  Operative 
Medicine.  With  an  Atlas  of  12 
Plates.  By  PH.  FKED.  BLANDIN, 
Professor  of  Anatomy  and  Operative 
Medicine,  &c.  Translated  from  the 
French, by  A.  SIDNEY  DOANE,  A.M., 
M.D.  With  additional  Matter  and 
Plates.  8vo. 

ELEMENTS  OF  THE  ETIOL- 
OGY AND  PHILOSOPHY  OF 
EPIDEMICS.  By  JOSKPH  MA- 
THER SMITH,  M.D.  8vo. 

AM  ELEMENTARY  TREA- 
TISE ON  ANATOMY.  By  A.  L. 
J.  BAYLE.  Translated  from  the 
sixth  French  Edition,  by  A.  SIDNEY 
DOANE,  A.M.,  M.D.  18mo. 

LEXICON  MEDICUM;  or, 
Medical  Dictionary.  By  R.  HOOPER, 
M.D.  With  Additions  from  Ameri- 
can Authors,  by  SAMUEL  AKEKLY, 
M.D.  8vo. 


Published    by    Harper     <J-    Brother*. 


MEDICINE.- 


A  DICTIONARY  OF  PRAC- 
TICAL SURGERY.  By  S.  COOP- 
ER, M.D.  With  numerous  Notes 
and  Additions,  embracing  all  the 
principal  American  Improvements. 
By  D.  M.  REESE,  M.D.  8vo. 


DIRECTIONS  FOR  INVIGO- 
RATING AND  PROLONGING 
LIFE  ;  or,  the  Invalid's  Oracle.  By 
WILLIAM  KITCHINER,  M.D.  Im- 
proved by  T.  S.  BARRETT,  M.D. 
18mo. 

THE  ECONOMY  OF  HEALTH 
or,  the  Stream  of  Human  Life,  from 
the  Cradle  to  the  Grave.  With  Re- 
flections, Moral,  Physical,  and  Phil- 
osophical, on  the  Septennial  Phases 
of  Human  Existence.  By  JAMES 
JOHNSON.  18mo. 

THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  PHYSI- 
OLOGY applied  to  the  Preservation 


A  TREATISE  ON  EPIDEMIC 
CHOLERA,  as  observed  in  the 
Duane-street  Cholera  Hospital, 
New- York,  during  its  Prevalence 
there  in  1834.  By  F.  T.  FERRIS. 
8vo.  Plates. 


of  Health,  and  to  the  Improvement 
of  Physical  and  Mental  Education. 
By  ANDREW  COMBE,  M.D.  18mo. 
Engravings. 

THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  LIV- 
ING ;  or,  the  Way  to  enjoy  Life  and 
its  Comforts.  By  CALKB  TICKNOR, 
A.M.,  M.D.  18mo.  Engravings. 

ANIMAL  MECHANISM  AND 
PHYSIOLOGY  ;  being  a  Plain  and 
Familiar  Exposition  of  the  Structure 
and  Functions  of  the  Human  System. 
Designed  for  the  Use  of  Families  and 
Schools.  By  JOHN  H.  GRISCOM, 
M.U.  18mo.  Engravings. 


FOR  SCHOOLS  AND  COLLEGES. 


FIRST  LATIN  LESSONS,  con- 
taining the  most  important  Parts  of 
the  Grammar  of  the  Latin  Language, 
together  with  appropriate  Exercises 
in  the  translating  and  writing  of  Lat- 
in, for  the  Use  of  Beginners.  By 
CHARLES  AHTHON,  LL.D.,  &c. 
12mo. 

FIRST  GREEK  LESSONS, 
containing  the  most  important  Parts 
of  the  Grammar  of  the  Greek  Lan- 
guage, together  with  appropriate  Ex- 
ercises in  the  translating  and  writing 
of  Greek,  for  the  Use  of  Beginners. 
By  CHARLES  ANTHON,  LL.D. 
12mo. 

A  GRAMMAR  OF  THE  GREEK 
LANGUAGE,  for  the  Use  of  Schools 
and  Colleges.  By  CHARLES  AN- 
THON, LL.D.  12mo. 

THE  GREEK  READER.  By 
FREDERIC  JACOBS.  A  New  Edition, 
with  English  Notes,  critical  and  ex- 
planatory, a  Metrical  Index  to  Ho- 
mer and  Anacreon,  and  a  copious 
Lexicon.  By  CHARLES  ANTHON, 
LL.D.,  &c.  12mo. 


A  SYSTEM  OF  GREEK  PROS- 
ODY AND  METRE,  for  the  Use 
of  Schools  and  Colleges :  together 
with  the  Choral  Scanning  of  the 
Prometheus  Vinctus  of  ^Eschylus, 
and  the  Ajax  and  OEdipus  Tyrannus 
of  Sophocles ;  to  which  are  append- 
ed Remarks  on  the  Indo-Germanic 
Analogies.  By  CHARLES  ANTHON, 
LL.D.  12mo. 

CESAR'S  COMMENTARIES 
ON  THE  GALLIC  WAR;  and  the 
first  Book  of  the  Greek  Paraphrase  ; 
with  English  Notes,  critical  and  ex- 
planatory, Plans  of  Battles,  Sieges, 
&c.,  and  Historical,  Geographical, 
and  Archaeological  Indexes.  By 
CHARLES  ANTHON,  LL.D.  12mo. 
Map,  Portrait,  &c. 

SALLUST'S  JUGURTHINE 
WAR  AND  CONSPIRACY  OF 
CATILINE.  With  an  English 
Commentary,  and  Geographical  and 
Historical  Indexes.  By  CHARLES 
ANTHON,  LL.D.  Ninth  Edition, cor- 
rected and  enlarged.  12mo.  Por- 
trait. 
_, _ 


Valuable     Standard      Works 


A  CLASSICAL  DICTIONARY, 

SELECT  ORATIONS   OF   CI- 

CERO.    With  English  Notes,  crit- 

containing an   Account  of    all   the 

ical  and  explanatory,  and  Historical, 

Proper  Names  mentioned  in  Ancient 

Geographical,    and    Legal    Indexes. 

Authors,  and  intended  to  elucidate 

A  new  Edition,  with  Improvements. 

with  the  Geography,  History,  Biog- 

12mo.   With  a  Portrait. 

raphy,  Archaeology,  and  Mythology 

ol  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  together 

THE    WORKS    OF    HORACE. 
With   English   Notes,  critical   and 

with  a  copious  Chronological  Table, 
and    an    Account    of    the    Coins, 

explanatory.       By    CHARLES    AN- 

Weights,  and  Measures  of  the  An- 

THON,  LL.D.,  &c.    New  Edition, 

cients,  with  Tabular  Values  of  the 

with  corrections  and  improvements. 

same.        By     CHARLES     ANTHON, 

12mo. 

LL.D.,  &c.    8vo.    (Nearly  ready.) 

A  LIFE  OF  GEORGE  WASH- 

Chemical  Philosophy.     By    JAMES 

INGTON.     In    Latin    Prose.     By 

RENWICK,    LL  D.      18mo.     With 

FRANCIS    GLASS,    A.M.,    of    Ohio. 

numerous  Engravings. 

Edited  by  J.  N.  REYNOLDS.      12mo. 

FIRST    PRINCIPLES    OF 

Portrait. 
INITIA  LATINA;  or,  the  Rudi. 
ments  of  the  Latin  Tongue.     Illus- 
trate'] by  Progressive  Exercises.    By 

CHEMISTRY  familiarly  explained. 
By    Professor    RENWICK.       18mo. 
With  numerous  Illustrative  Engra- 
vings. 

CHARLKS  H.  LYON.    12rm. 

ILLUSTRATIONS      OF      ME- 

OUTLINES  OF    IMPERFECT 
AND    DISORDERED     MENTAL 

CHANICS,     By  Professors  MOSB- 
LEY  and  RENWICK.     18mo.     Engra- 

ACTION.    By  THOMAS  C.  UPHAM, 

vings. 

-  Professor  of  Mental  and  Moral  Phil- 
osophy in  Bowdoin  College.     18mo. 
MENTAL  PHILOSOPHY;  em- 
bracing the  three  Departments  of  the 

THE  SCIENCE  OF  MECHAN- 
ICS applied  to  Practical  Purposes. 
By  JAMKS  RENWICK,  LL.D.     18mo. 
Engravings. 

Intellect,  Sensibilities,  and  Will.    By 
THOMAS  C.  UPHAM.    3  vols.  12mo. 
A       PHILOSOPHICAL       AND 
PRACTICAL      TREATISE      ON 
THE  WILL.     By  Professor  UPHAM. 

THE   ELEMENTS   OF   GEOL- 
OGY,  for  Popular  Use;  containing 
a  Description  of  the  Geological  For- 
mation and  Mineral  Resources  of  the 
United    States.     By    CHARLKS    A. 

INQUIRIES     CONCERNING    THE 

LEE,  A.M.,  M.D.     18mo.     Engra- 

INTELLECTUAL       POWERS, 

vings. 

and  the  Investigation  of  Truth.     By 

THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  PHYSI- 

JOHN ABERCROMBIE,  M.D.,  F.R.S. 

OLOGY  applied  to  the  Preservation 

With  Questions.    18mo. 

of  Health,  and  to  the  Improvement 

THE    PHILOSOPHY   OF    THE 

of  Physical  and  Mental  Education. 

MORAL    FEELINGS.     By  JOHN 

By  ANDREW  COMBE,  M.D.    18mo. 

ABERCROMBIE,  M.D.,  F.R.S.     With 

Engravings. 

Questions.     18mo. 

ANIMAL    MECHANISM    AND 

PALEY'S     NATURAL    THE- 
OLOGY.    With  Illustrative  Notes, 

PHYSIOLOGY;  being  a  plain  and 
familiar  Exposition  of  the  Structure 
and  Functions  of  the  Human  System. 

F.R.S.,  and   Sir  CHARLES    BELL! 

Designed  for  the  Use  of  Families  and 

K.G.H.,  F.R  S.,  L.  &  E.     Withnu 

Schools.     By  JOHN    H.    GKISCOM, 

merous  Woodcuts.    To  which  are 

M.D.    18mo.    Engravings. 

added  Preliminary  Observations  and 
Notes.     By  ALONZO  POTTER,  D.D. 

UNIVERSAL  HISTORY,  from 
the  Creation  of  the  World  to  the  De- 

2 vols.  18mo. 

cease  of  George  III.,  1820.     By  the 

FAMILIAR  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Hon.  ALEXANDER  FRASER  TVTLKR 

OF  NATURAL   PHILOSOPHY, 

and  Rev.  E.  NARES,  D.D.     Edited 

selected  principally  from   Daniell's 

by  an  American.    6  vols.  18mo. 

Published    by    Harper     «f     Brother*. 


FOR      SCHOOLS,      ET  C. N  ATURAL    PHILOSOPHY. 


AMERICAN  HISTORY.  By 
the  Author  of  "  American  Popular 
Lessons."  3  vols.  ISmo.  Engra- 
vings. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  GREECE. 
By  Dr.  GOLDSMITH.  Edited  by  the 
Author  of  "  American  Popular  Les- 
sons," &c.  18mo. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  ROME.  By 
Dr.  GOLDSMITH.  Edited  by  H.  W. 
HERBERT,  Esq.  18mo. 

AN  ELEMENTARY  TREA- 
TISE  ON  MECHANICS.  Trans- 


lated from  the  French  of  M.  Bou- 
CHARLAT.  Wkh  Additions  and  Em- 
endations, designed  to  adapt  it  to  the 
Use  of  the  Cadets  of  the  U.  S.  Mil- 
itary  Academy.  By  EDWARD  H. 

COURTENAY.      8vo. 

COBB'S  SCHOOL  BOOKS. 
Including  Walker's  Dictionary,  Ex- 
planatory Arithmetic,  Nos.  1  and  2, 
North  American  Reader,  &c. 

A  TABLE  OF  LOGARITHMS, 

OF  LOGARITHMIC  SINES,  AND 
A  TKAVERSE  TABLE.  12mo. 


NATURAL    PHILOSOPHY. 


A  PRELIMINARY  DIS- 
COURSE ON  THE  STUDY  OF 
NATURAL  PHILOSOPHY.  By 
JOHN  FREDERIC  WILLIAM  HER- 
SCHEL,  A.M.,  &c.  12mo. 

FAMILIAR  ILLUSTRATIONS 
OF  NATURAL  PHILOSOPHY, 
selected  principally  from  DanielPs 
Chemical  Philosophy.  By  JAMES 
RENWICK,  LL.D.  18mo.  With 
numerous  Engravings. 

LETTERS  ON  NATURAL 
MAGIC.  Addressed  to  Sir  Walter 
Scott.  By  Sir  DAVID  BKEWSTER. 
18mo.  With  Engravings. 

LETTERS  of  EULER  on  Dif- 
ferent Subjects  of  Natural  Philoso- 
phy. Addressed  to  a  German  Prin- 
cess. Translated  by  HUNTER. 
With  Notes,  and  a  Life  of  Euler,  by 
Sir  DAVID  BREWSTER;  with  addi- 
tional Notes,  by  JOHN  GRISCOM, 
LL.D.  With  a  Glossary  of  Scien- 
tific Terms.  2  vols.  18mo.  Engra- 
yings. 

ON  ASTRONOMY  AND  GEN- 
ERAL PHYSICS.  By  the  Rev. 
WILLIAM  WHK WELL.  M.A.,  F.R.S., 
&c.  12mo. 

THE  EARTH:  its  Physical  Con- 
dition and  most  Remarkable  Phe- 
nomena. By  W.  MUI.LINGER  HIG- 
OINS.  18mo.  Engravings. 

CELESTIAL  SCENERY;  or, 
the  Wonders  of  the  Planetary  Sys- 
tem displayed.  Illustrating  the  Per- 


fections of  Deity  and  a  Plurality  of 
Worlds.  By  THOMAS  DICK,  LL.D. 
18mo.  Engravings. 

THE  SIDEREAL  HEAVENS, 
and  other  Subjects  connected  with 
Astronomy,  as  illustrative  of  the 
Character  of  the  Deity,  and  of  an  In- 
finity of  Worlds.  By  THOMAS  DICK, 
LL.D.  18mo.  Engravings. 

AN  ELEMENTARY  TREA- 
TISE  ON  MECHANICS.  Trans- 
lated from  the  French  of  M.  Bou- 
CHAHLAT.  With  Additions  and  Em- 
endations, designed  to  adapt  it  to  the 
Use  of  the  Cadets  of  the  U.  S.  Mil- 
itary Academy.  By  EDWARD  H. 
COURTENAY.  8vo. 

ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  ME- 
CHANICS. By  Professors  MOSE- 
LEY  and  RENWICK.  18mo.  Engra- 
vings. 

THE  SCIENCE  OF  MECHAN- 
ICS applied  to  Practical  Purposes. 
By  JAMKS  RENWICK,  LL.D.  18mo. 
Engravings. 

CHAPTAL'S  CHYMISTRYAP- 
PLIED  TO  AGRICULTURE.  A 

New  Translation,  with  valuable  Se- 
lections from  Sir  HUMPHREY  DAVY 
and  others. 

FIRST  PRINCIPLES  OF 
CHEMISTRY  familiarly  explained. 
By  Professor  RENWICK.  18mo. 
With  numerous  illustrative  Engra- 
vings. 

15 


Valuable     Standard      W  o  r  ft  * 


NATURAL   HISTOR  Y. P  OETRY,  AND  THE  DRAMA. 


NATURAL    HISTORY. 


A  POPULAR  GUIDE  TO  THE 
OBSERVATION  OF  NATURE; 
or,  Hints  of  Inducement  to  the  Study 
of  Natural  Productions  and  Appear- 
ances, in  their  Connexions  and  Re- 
lations. By  ROBERT  MUDIE.  J8mo. 
Engravings. 

NATURAL  HISTORY;  or, Un- 
cle Philip's  Conversations  with  the 
Children  about  Tools  and  Trades 

j  among  the  Inferior  Animals.     18mo. 

|  With  Illustrative  Engravings. 

THE  HAND,  its  Mechanism  and 
Vital  Endowments,  as  evincing  De- 
sign. By  Sir  CHARLKS  BELL, 
K.G.H.,  F.R.S.  L.  &  E  ,  &c.  12mo. 

THE  NATURAL  HISTORY  OF 
QUADRUPEDS.  18mo.  Numer- 
ous Engravings. 

THS  ELEPHANT  as  he  exists 
in  a  Wild  State,  and  as  he  has  been 
made  subservient,  in  Peace  and 
in  War,  to  the  Purposes  of  Man. 
181119.  Illustrated  by  numerous  En- 
gravings. 

THE  NATURAL  HISTORY  OF 
BIRDS;  their  Architecture,  Hobits, 
&c.  18mo.  VVith  numerous  Illus- 
trative Engravings. 


THE  NATURAL  HISTORY  OF 
INSECTS.  2vols.  18mo.  Engra- 
vings. 

A  MANUAL  OF  CONCHOLO- 
GY,  according  to  thf  System  laid 
down  by  Lamaick.wrJi  'he  late  Im- 
provements by  De  blamville.  Ex- 
emplified and  arranged  for  the  Use 
of  Students.  By  THOMAS  WYATT, 
M.A.  Illustrated  by  36  Plates,  de- 
taining more  than  two  hundred 
Types  drawn  from  the  Natural 
Shell.  8vo. 

Also  an  Edition  with  coloured 
Plates. 

THE  AMERICAN  FOREST; 
or,  Uncle  Philip's  Conversations 
with  the  Children  about  the  Trees 
of  America.  J8mo.  With  numerous 
Engravings. 

VEGETABLE  SUBSTANCES 
used  for  the  Food  of  Man.  18mo. 
With  numerous  Engravings. 

THE  ELEMENTS  OF  GEOL- 
OGY, for  Popular  Use;  containing 
a  Description  of  the  Geological  For- 
mation and  Mineral  Resources  of  the 
United  States.  By  CHARLKS  A. 
LBE,  A.M.,  M.D.  18mo.  Engra- 
vmgs. 


POETRY,     AND    THE     DRAMA. 


POEMS,  by  WILUAM  CULI.EN 
BRYANT.  New  Edition,  enlarged. 
12mo.  With  a  Vignette. 

FANNY,  with  other  Poems.  By 
FITZ-GREENE  HAI.LKCK.  12mo. 
With  a  Vignette. 

POEMS,  by  FITZ-GREENE  HAL- 
LECK,  Esq.  12mo.  Vignette. 

THE  RIVALS  OF  ESTE,  and 
other  Poems.  By  JAMES  G.  BROOKS 
and  MARY  E.  BROOKS.  12mo. 

SELECTIONS  FROM  THE 
AMERICAN  POETS.  By  W.  C. 
BRYANT,  Esq.  18mo. 

SELECTIONS  FROM  FOR- 
EIGN POETS.  By  FITZ-GREENK 
HALLKCK,  Esq.  2  vols.  18mo. 

THE  SIAMESE  TWINS.  A 
Satirical  Tale  of  the  Times,  &c. 
By  Sir  LYTTON  BULWER.  12mo. 

16 


VIRGIL.  The  Eclogues  transla- 
ted by  WRANGHAM,  the  Georgics  by 
SOTHEEY,  and  the  -<Eneid  by  DKY- 
DEN.  2  vols.  18mo.  Portrait. 

HORACE.  Translated  by  PHIMP 
FRANCIS,  D.D.  With,  an  Appendix, 
containing  Translations  of  various 
Odes,  &c.,  by  BEN  JONSON,  COW- 
LEY,  MILTON,  DRYDEN,  POPK,  AD- 
DISON,  SWIFT,  BENTI.EY,  CHAT- 
TKRTON,  G.  WAKEFIELD,  PORSON, 
BYRON,  &c.,  and  by  some  of  the 
most  eminent  Poets  of  the  present 
Day.  And 

PH^EDRUS.  With  the  Appen- 
dix of  Gumus.  Translated  by 
CHRISTOPHER  SMART,  A.M.  2vols. 
18mo.  With  a  Portrait. 

OVID.  Translated  by  DRYDEN, 
POPE,  CONGREVE,  ADBISON,  and 
others.  2  vols.  18mo.  Portrait. 


Published    by     Harper     <f-     B  r  o  t  h  e  r  *. 


POETRY,  AND  THE   DRAM  A. M  ISCELLANEOUB. 


THE  REBEL,  and  other  Tales. 
By  Sir  LYTTON  BULWER,  M.P. 
12mo. 

ATALANTIS:  A  Story  of  the 
Sea.  By  W.  GILMORB  SIMMS,  Esq. 
8vo. 

HOMER.  Translated  by  ALEX- 
ANDER POPE,  Esq.  3  vols.  18mo. 
Portrait 

JUVENAL.  Translated  by 
CHARLKS  BADH*M,  M.U.,  F.R  S. 
New  Edition.  With  an  Appendix, 
containing  Imitations  of  the  Third 
and  Tenth  Satires.  By  Dr.  SAMUEL 
JOHNSON.  And 

PKRSIUS.  Translated  by  the 
Rt.  Hon.  Sir  W.  DRUMMOND,  F.R.S. 
18mo.  Portrait. 

P I  N  D  A  R.  Translated  by  the 
Rev.  C.  A.  WHEELWRIGHT.  And 

ANACREON.  Translated  by 
THOMAS  BOURNE,  Esq.  18mo. 
Portrait. 

THE  DRAMATIC  WORKS  AND 
POEMS  OF  WILLIAM  SHAKS- 
PEARE.  With  Notes,  original  and 
selected,  and  Introductory  Remarks 
to  each  Play,  by  SAMCEL  WEI.LEK 
SINGER,  F  S.A.,  and  a  Life  of  the 
Poet,  by  CHARLES  SYMMONS,  D.D. 
8vo.  With  numerous  Engravings. 

THE  DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF 
WILLIAM  SHAKSPEARE,  with 
the  Corrections  and  Illustrations  of 
Dr.  JOHNSON,  G.  STKEVENS,  and 
others.  Revised  by  ISAAC  RKKD, 
Esq.  6  vols.  crown  8vo.  With  a 
Portrait  and  other  Engravings. 


VELA  SCO:  a  Tragedy,  in  five 
Acts.  By  EPES  SARGENT.  12mo. 

THB  PLAYS  OF  PHILIP  MAS- 
SINGER.  3  vols.  18mo.  With  a 
Portrait. 

THE  DRAMATIC  WORKS  OF 
JOHN  FORD.  With  Notes,  crit- 
ical and  explanatory.  In  2  vols. 
18mo. 

DRAMATIC  SCENES  FROM 
REAL  LIFE.  By  Lady  MORGAN. 
2  vols.  12mo. 

THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL, 
aMelo-Drama.  AUCHI.NDRANE ; 
or,  the  Ayrshire  Tragedy.  By  Sir 
WALTER  SCOTT.  12mo. 

AESCHYLUS.  Translated  by 
the  Rev.  R.  POTTER,  M.A.  18mo. 

SOPHOCLES.  Translated  by 
THOMAS  FRANCKLIN,  D.D.  18mo. 
With  a  Portrait. 

EURIPIDES.  Translated  bythe 
Rev.  R.  POTTER,  M.A.  3  vols.  18mo. 
Portrait. 

RICHELIEU;  or,  the  Conspira- 
cy :  a  Play,  in  five  Acts.  With  His- 
torical Odes.  By  Sir  LYTTON  BOL- 
WKR.  12mo.  » 

THE  LADY  OF  LYONS  :  a  Play, 
in  five  Acts.  By  Sir  LYTTON  BUL- 
WEK.  12mo. 

THE  SEA-CAPTAIN;  or,  the 
Birthright.  A  Play,  in  five  Acts. 
By  Sir  LYTTON  BUI.WKR.  12mo. 

BLANCHE  OF  NAVARRE.   A 

Play,  in  five  Acts.    By  G.  P.  R. 
JAMES,  Esq.     12mo. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


THE  WORKS  OF  JOSEPH 
ADDISON.  3  vols.  8vo,  embracing 
"  The  Spectator."  Portrait. 

THE  WORKS  OF  HENRY 
MACKENZIE,  ESQ.  Complete  in 
one  vol.  12mo.  Portrait. 

THE  COMPLETE  WORKS  OF 
EDMUND  BURKE.  With  a  Me- 
moir. 3  vols.  8vo.  Portrait. 

THE  WORKS  OF  CHARLES 
LAMB.  Complete— with  his  Life, 
by  TALFOURD.  In  2  vols.  12mo. 
Portrait. 


THE  WORKS  OF  JOHN  DRY- 
DEN,  in  Verse  and  Prose.  With  a 
Life,  by  the  Rev.  JOHN  MITFORD. 
2  vols.  8vo.  Portrait. 

THE  WORKS  OF  HANNAH 
MORE.  Tvols.  12mo.  Illustrations 
to  each  volume. 

The  same  work  in  2  vols.  royal 
8vo,  with  Illustrations. 

Also  an  Edition  in  one  vol.  royal 
8vo,  with  a  Portrait,  &c. 

LITERARY  REMAINS  OF  THK 
LATE  HENRY  NEELE.  8vo. 

17 


Valuable     Standard     Workt 


M  I  8  C  B  L  1 

,  A  N  E  0  U  8. 

THE  WORKS  OF  LORD  CHES- 

ENGLISH     SYNONYMES. 

TERFIELU,  including  his  Letters 

With  copious  Illustrations  and  Ex- 

to  his  Son.     With  a  Life  of  the  Au- 

planations,   drawn    from   the    best 

thor.    6vo. 

Writers.    By  GEORGE  CKABB,  M.A. 

1  THE  WRITINGS  OF  ROBERT 

8vo. 

C.   SANDS,   in    Prose  and    Verse. 

INFANTRY     TACTICS  ;     or, 

With  a  Memoir  of  the  Author.    In  2 

Rules  for  the  Exercise  and  Manoeu- 

vols. 8vo.     With  a  Portrait. 

vres  of  the  United  States'  Infantry. 

THE    MISCELLANEOUS 
WORKS  OF   REV.  JOHN  WES- 
LEY.   3  vols.  8vo. 

New    Edition.     By    Major-General 
SCOTT,  U.  S.  Army.     [Published  by 
Authority.]    3  vols.  18mo.     Plates. 

SELECTIONS    FROM    THE 

THE    PERCY    ANECDOTES. 

WORKS    OF    DR.    SAMUEL 

Revised  Edition.    To  which  is  add- 

JOHNSON.   With  a  Life  and  Por- 

ed, a  valuable  Collection  of  Ameri- 

trait.   2  vols.  18mo. 

can  Anecdotes,  original  and  selected. 

SELECTIONS    FROM    THE 

8vo.     Portraits. 

WORKS  OF    DR.   GOLDSMITH. 

ANECDOTES,  Literary,  Moral, 

With  a  Life  and  Portrait.     18mo. 

Religious,  and  Miscellaneous.    Com- 

SELECTIONS   FROM    THE 

piled  by  the  Rev.  Messrs.  HOKS  and 

WRITINGS  OF  WASHINGTON. 

WAY.    8va 

2  vols.  18mo. 

ALGIC  RESEARCHES.    Com- 

SELECTIONS   FROM    THE 
SPECTATOR:    embracing  the 
most  interesting  Papers  by  AUDI  SON. 
STEELE,  and  others.    2  vols.  18mo. 

prising  Inquiries  respecting  the  Men- 
tal   Characteristics    of    the    North 
American    Indians.       First    Series. 
Indian    Tales    and    Legends.       By 
HENRY    ROWE    SCHOOLCRAFT.     2 

LETTERS,       CONVERSA- 
TIONS,  AND  RECOLLECTIONS 
OP  THE  LATE  S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

vols.  12mo. 
INDIAN     TRAITS;    being 
Sketches  of  the  Manners,  Customs, 

12mo. 

and  Character  of  the  North  Ameri- 

SPECIMENS OF  THE  TABLE 

can  Natives.     By  B.  B.  THATCHER, 

TALK    OF    THE    LATE    SAMUEL 

Esq.    2  vols.  18mo.     Engravings. 

TAYLOR  COLERIDGE.    12mo. 
OUTLINES   OF    IMPERFECT 
AND    DISORDERED     MENTAL 

GEORGIA      SCENES.      New 
Edition.      With    original    Illustra- 

ACTION.     By  THOMAS  C.  UPHAM, 
Professor  of  Mental  and  Moral  Phi- 
losophy in  Bowdoin  College.    18mo. 

HOW  TO   OBSERVE.  —  MOR- 
ALS AND  MANNERS.    By  HAR- 

MENTAL  PHILOSOPHY;  em- 

bracing  the  three  Departments  of  the 
Intellect,  Sensibilities,  and  Will.    By 
THOMAS  C.  IJPHAM.    3  vols.  12mo. 

THE  LETTERS  OF  THE  BRIT- 
ISH   SPY.     By    WILLIAM    WIRT, 
Esq.     To  which  is  prefixed,  a  Bio- 
graphical   Sketch    of  the    Author. 

A       PHILOSOPHICAL       AND 

12mo.    Portrait. 

PRACTICAL     TREATISE     ON 
THE  WILL.     By  Professor  UPHAM. 

ZION'S     SONGSTER.      Com- 
piled by  the  Rev.  THOMAS  MASON. 

INQUIRIES     CONCERNING     THE 

48mo. 

INTELLECTUAL        POWERS, 

and  the  Investigation  of  Truth.     By 
JOHN  ABERCROMBIE,  M.D.,  F.R.S. 
With  Questions.     18mo. 

THE    COOK'S    ORACLE    and 
Housekeeper's  Manual.    Containing 
Receipts  for  Cookery,  and  Directions 
for  Carving.    With  a  Complete  Sys- 

THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF    THE 
MOKAL    FEELINGS.     By  JOHN 

tem  of  Cookery  for  Catholic  Fami- 
lies.     By    WILLIAM    KITCHINER, 

ABKRCROMBIE,  M.D.,  F.R.S.    With 

M.D.    12mo. 

Questions.     I8mo. 

MODERN  AMERICAN  COOK- 

MINIATURE    LEXICON     OF 

ERY.     With  a  List  of  Family  Med- 

THE    ENGLISH      LANGUAGE. 

ical   Receipts,  and  a  valuable  Mis- 

By LYMAN  COBB.    48mo. 

cellany.    By  Miss  P.  SMITH.    16mo. 

18 


Published    by    Harper     <f-     Brothers. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

THE  FAIRY  BOOK.     16mo.    11 

PUBLIC     AND    PRIVATE 

lustrated  with  81  Woodcuts,  by  AD- 

ECONOMY: Illustrated  by  Obser- 

AMS. 

vations  made  in  Europe  in  1836-7. 

A   NEW  HIEROGLYPHICAL 

In    three    Parts.       By    THEODORE 

BIBLE,  with  400  Cuts,  by  ADAMS. 

SEDGWICK.    3  vols.  12mo. 

16mo. 

POLITICAL    ECONOMY.     Its 

THE  LIFE  AND  SURPRISING 
ADVENTURES   OF   ROBINSON 

Objects  stated  and  explained,  and  its 
Principles  familiarly  and  practically 

CRUSOK,  of  York,  Mariner.    With 

illustrated.     18ino. 

a  Biographical  Account  of  Ds  FOE. 

LETTERS    TO    YOUNG    LA- 

Illustrated   with    50    characteristic 

DIES.    By  Mrs.  L.  H.  SIGOURNEY. 

Engravings,  by  ADAMS.     12mo. 

12mo. 

THE  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS. 

LETTERS  TO  MOTHERS.    By 

With  a  Life  of  BUNYAN,  by  ROBERT 

Mrs.  L.  H.  SIGOURNEY.     12mo. 

SOUTHEY,  LL.D.     New  and  beauti- 

DOMESTIC  DUTIES;  or,   In- 

ful   Edition,    splendidly    illustrated 

structions  to  Young  Married  Ladies 

with    50    Engravings,    by    ADAMS. 

on  the  Management  of  their  House- 

12mo. 

holds,  and  the  Regulation  of  their 

THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST,  in  the 
Words  of  the  Evangelists.     A  com- 
plete Harmony  of  the  Gospel  History 

Conduct  in  the  various  Relations  and 
Duties  of  Married   Life.     By   Mrs. 
W.  PARKES.     With  Improvements. 

of  our  Saviour.     Small  4to.     With 
30  Engravings  on  Wood,  by  ADAMS. 

SLAVERY   IN   THE    UNITED 
STATES.     By  J.   K.  PAULDING, 

EVENINGS  AT  HOME;  or,  the 

Esq.     18rno. 

Juvenile    Budget    opened.     By   Dr 
AIKIN  and  Mrs.  BARBAULD.     Small 
4to.    With  34  Engravings  on  Wood. 

DISCOURSES  AND  ADDRESS- 
ES on  Subjects  of  American  History, 
Arts,  and  Literature.      By  GULIAN 

THE  FARMER'S  INSTRUCT- 

C.  VERPLANCK.    12mo. 

ER;  consisting  of  Essays,  Practical 
Directions,  and  Hints  lor  the  Man- 
agement of  the  Farm,  Garden.  &c. 
By  the  Hon.  Judge  BUEL.    2  vols. 

LETTERS  ON  DEMONOLOGY 
AND     WITCHCRAFT.      By     Sir 
WALTER    SCOTT.     18mo.     Engra- 

18rno.     With  Engravings. 

FESTIVALS,     GAMES,     AND 

A  TREATISE   ON    AGRICUL- 

AM US  KM  E  NTS,  Ancient  and  Mod- 

TURE; comprising  a  Concise  His- 

ern.     By    HORATIO    SMITH,    Esq. 

tory  of  its  Origin  and  Progress  ;  the 

With  Additions  by  SAMUEL  WOOD- 

present  Condition  of  ths  Art  abroad 

WORTH,  Esq.,  of  New-  York.    18mo. 

and  at   home,  and  the  Theory  and 
Practice  of  Husbandry.    To  which 
is  added  a  Dissertation  on  the  Kitch- 
en and  Fruit  Garden.     By  General 

LKCTURES     ON     GENERAL 
LITERATURE,    POETRY,    &c. 
By  JAMBS  MONTGOMERY.     18mo. 

JOHN  ARMSTRONG.    With  Notes,  by 

A     TREATISE     ON     LAN- 

the Hon.  Judge  BUEL.    18mo. 

GUAGE  ;  or,  the  Relations  which 

THK  USEFUL  ARTS,  popularly 
treated.     18mo.     With  numerous  il- 

Words bear  to  Things.    By  A.  B. 
JOHNSON.    12mo. 

lustrative  Woodcuts. 

THE  ORATIONS  OF  DEMOS- 

ENGLAND    AND     AMERICA. 
A  Comparison  of  the  Social  and  Po- 

THENES.   Translated  by  THOMAS 
LEI.AND,  D.D.     2  vols.  18mo.     Por- 
trait. 

litical  State  of  both  Nations.    8vo. 

CICERO.     The   Orations  trans- 

FRANCE:   SOCIAL,    LITER- 

lated   by  DUNCAN,   the  Offices   by 

ARY,   AND    POLITICAL.     By   H. 

COCKMAN,  and  the  Cato  and  Laelius 

L.    BULWER,    Esq.,   M.P.     2  vols. 

by  MELMOTH.    3  vols.  18mo.     Por- 

12m"). 

trait. 

ENGLAND    AND    THE     ENG- 

THE   PLEASURES    AND    AD 

LISH.     By  Sir  LYTTON  BULWER, 

VANTAGES  OF  SCIENCE.    By 

M.P.    2  vols.  12mo. 

ALONZO  POTTER,  D.D.    18mo. 

19 


Valuable      Standard      Work* 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


ON  THE  IMPROVEMENT  OF 
SOCIETY  by  the  Diffusion  of 
Knowledge.  By  THOMAS  DICK, 
LL.D.  18mo. 

PRACTICAL  EDUCATION 
By  RICHARD  LOVKLI.  EDGEWORTH 
and  MARIA  EDGEWORTH.  12mo. 

THE  DISTRICT  SCHOOL.  By 
J.  O.  TAYLOR.  12mo. 

UNCLE  PHILIP'S  CONVER 
SAT10NS  WITH  THK  CHILDREN 
ABOUT  THE  WHALE-FISHERY 
AND  POLAR  SEAS.  2vols.J8mo. 
Numerous  Engravings. 

THE  HOUSEHOLD  BOOK. 
By  the  Rev.  Dr.  POTTKR.  18mo. 

EVENING  READINGS  IN 
NATURE  AND  MAN.  Selected 
and  arranged  by  ALONZO  POTTKR, 
D.D.  18rno. 

A  FAMILIAR  TREATISE  ON 
THE  CONSTITUTION  OF  THE 
UNITED  STATES.  18mo. 

SKETCHES  OF  AMERICAN 
ENTERPRISE.  2  vols.  18mo. 

THE  WONDERS  OF  NATURE 

AND  ART.     18mo.    Numerous  En- 
gravings. 

THE  POOR  RICH  MAN  AND 
THE  RICH  POOR  MAN.  By  Miss  I 
C.  M.  SEDGWICK.  18mo. 

THB  SWISS  FAMILY  ROB- 
INSON ;  or,  Adventures  of  a  Father 
and  Mother  and  Four  Sons  on  a 
Desert  Island.  The  Progress  of  the 
Story  forming  a  clear  Illustration  of 
the  First  Principles  of  Natural  His- 
tory, and  many  Branches  of  Science 
which  most  immediately  apply  to 
the  Business  of  Life.  2  vols.  18mo. 
Engravings. 

LIVE  AND  LET  LIVE.  By 
Miss  C.  M.  SEDGWICK.  18mo. 


THE  SON  OF  A  GENIUS.  A 
Tale  for  the  Vse  of  Youth.  By  Mrs. 
HOFLAND.  18mo.  Engravings. 

THE  YOUNG  CRUSOE;  or, 
the  Shipwrecked  Boy.  Containing 
an  Account  of  his  Shipwreck,  and  of 
his  Residence  alone  upon  an  Unin- 
habited Island.  By  Mrs.  HOFLAND. 
18mo.  Engravings. 

THE  CLERGYMAN'S  OR- 
PHAN, and  other  Tales  By  a 
Clergyman.  For  the  Use  of  Youth. 
18mo.  Engravings. 

THS  ORNAMENTS  DISCO V- 
ERED.  By  Mrs.  HUGHS.  Engra- 
ings. 

DIARY  OF  A  PHYSICIAN. 
New  Edition.  3  vols.  18mo. 

NO  FICTION:  a  Narrative 
founded  on  Recent  and  Interesting 
Facts.  By  the  Rev.  ANDREW 
REED,  D.D.  New  Edition.  12mo. 

MARTHA:  a  Memorial  of  an 
only  and  beloved  Sister.  By  the 
Rev.  ANDRBW  REKD,  Author  of 
"  No  Fiction."  12mo. 

THE  MECHANIC.  By  Rev.  C. 
B.  TAVLER.  18mo. 

LETTERS  TO  ADA.  By  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Piss.  18mo. 

LETTERS  OF  Y.  DOWNING, 
Major,  Downingville  Militia,  Second 
Brigade,  to  his  Old  Friend  Mr. 
Dwight,  of  the  New-York  Daily  Ad- 
vertiser. 18mo.  Engravings. 

SCENES  IK  OUR  PARISH. 
By  a  "  Country  Parson's"  Daughter. 

THE  SIBYL'S  LEAVES.  By 
Mrs.  COLEY. 

THE  NOTEBOOK  OF  A 
COUNTRY  CLERGYMAN. 


FAMILY    LIBRARY. 


Abundantly  illustrated  by  Mips.  Portraits,  in 

Nos.  1,  2,  3.  The  History  of  the 
Jews.  By  the  Rev.  H.  H.  Milman. 

4,  5.  The  Life  of  Napoleon  Bona- 
parte. By  J.  G.  Lockhart,  Esq. 

6.  The  Life  of  Nelson.     By  Rob- 
ert Southey,  LL.D. 

7.  The  Life  and  Actions  of  Alex- 
ander the  Great.     By  the   Rev.  J. 
Williams. 

20 


other  Engravings  on  steel,  copper,  and  wood. 

8.  74.  The  Natural  History  of  In- 
sects. 

9.  The  Life  of  Lord  Byron.     By 
John  Gait,  Esq. 

10.  The  Life  of  Mohammed.     By 
the  Rev.  George  Bush. 

11.  Letters  on    Demonology  and 
Witchcraft.     By  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
Bart. 


Published    by     Harper     <f    Brothers. 


THE       FAMILY       LIBRARY. 

32,  13.  History  of  the  Bible.    By 

43,  44.  Sketches  from  Venetian 

the  Rev.  G.  R  Gleig. 

History.    By  the  Rev.  E.  Smedley, 

14.    Narrative  of    Discovery  and 

MA. 

Adventure   in  the   Polar  Seas  and 

45,  46.  Indian  Biography;  or,  an 

Regions.     By  Professors  Leslie  and 

Historical  Account  of  those  Individ- 

Jameson, and  Hugh  Murray. 

uals  who  have  been  distinguished 

15.  The  Life  and  Times  of  George 

among  the  North  American  Natives 

the   Fourth.    By  the  Rev.  George 

as  Orators,  Warriors,  Statesmen,  and 

Croly. 

other  Remarkable  Characters.     By 

16.   Narrative   of    Discovery  and 

B.  B.  Thatcher,  Esq. 

Adventure  in  Africa.     By  Professor 

47,  48,  49.  Historical  and  Descrip- 

Jameson,  and    James  Wilson    and 

tive  Account  of  British  India.     By 

Hugh  Murray,  Es^^s. 

Hugh  Murray,  Esq.,  James  Wilson, 

17,  18,  19,  66,  67.    Lives  of  the 

Esq.,  R.  K.  Greville,  LL.D.,  White- 

most  Eminent  Painters  and  Sculp- 

law Amshe,  M.D.,  William  Rhind, 

tors.     Bv  Allan  Cunningham,  Esq. 
20.   History  of  Chivalry  and  the 
Crusades.     By  G.  P.  R.  James. 

Esq.,  Professor  Jameson,  Professor 
Wallace,  and  Captain  Clarence  Dal- 
rimple. 

21,  22.  The  Life  of  Mary,  Queen 

50.    Letters  on    Natural   Magic. 

of  Scots.    By  Henry  Glassford  Bell, 

By  Dr.  Brewster. 

Esq. 

51,  52.  History  of  Ireland    By  W. 

23.  A  View  of  Ancient  and  Mod- 

C. Tavlor,  Esq. 

ern  Egypt.    By  the  Rev.  M.  Rus- 
sell, LL.D. 

53.  Historical  View  of  the  Prog- 
ress of  Discovery  on  the  Northern 

24.  History  of  Poland.    By  James 

Coasts  of  North  America.     By  P. 

Fletcher,  Esq. 

F.  Tytler,  Esq. 

25.  Festivals,  Games,  and  Amuse- 

54. The  Travels  and  Researches 

ments.     By  Horatio  Smith,  Esq. 

of  Alexander   Von   Humboldt.     By 

26.  Life  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton.    By 

W.  Macgillivray,  A.M. 

Sir  David  Brewster,  K.B.,  <fcc. 

55,  56.  Letters  of  Euler  on  Differ- 

27.  Palestine,  or  the  Holy  Land. 

ent  Subjects  of  Natural  Philosophy. 

By  the  Rev.  M.  Russell,  LL.D. 
28.   Memoirs  of  the  Empress  Jo- 

Translated by  Hunter.    With  Notes, 
&c.,  by  Sir  David  Brewster  and  John 

sephine.     By  John  S.  Memes,  LL.D. 

Griscom,  LL.D. 

29.  The  Court  and  Camp  of  Bo- 

57. A  Popular  Guide  to  the  Ob- 

naparte. 

servation    of   Nature.    By    Robert 

30.  Lives  and  Voyages  of  Drake, 

Mudie. 

Cavendish,  and  Dampier. 
31.  Description  of  Pitcairn's  Isl- 

58. The  Philosophy  of  the  Moral 
Feelings.     By  John  Abercrombie. 

and  and  its  Inhabitants;  with  an  Ac- 

59. On  the  Improvement  of  Soci- 

count  of  the   Mutiny  of  the   Ship 

ety  by  the  Diffusion  of  Knowledge 

Bounty,  <fcc.     By  J.  Barrow,  Esq. 

By  Thomas  Dick,  LL.D. 

32,  72.  84.  Sacred  History  of  the 
World,  as  displayed  in  the  Creation 

60.  History  of  Charlemagne.     By 
G.  P.  R.  James,  Esq. 

and  Subsequent  Events  to  the  Del- 

61. Nubia  and  Abyssinia.    By  the 

uge.     By  Sharon  Turner.  F.S.A. 

Rev.  M.  Russell,  LL.D. 

33,34.  Memoirs  of  Celebrated  Fe- 

62, 63.  The  Life  of  <  'liver  Crom- 

male Sovereigns.    By  Mrs.  Jameson. 

well.     By  the  Rev.  M.  Russell. 

35,  36.  Journal  of  an  Expedition 

64.  Lectures  on  General  Litera- 

to explore  the  Course  and  Termina- 

ture, Poetry,  &.c.     By  James  Mont- 

tion  of  the  N  iger.    By  Richard  and 
John  Lander. 

65.  Memoir  of  the  Life  of  Peter 

37.  Inquiries  concerning  the  Intel- 
lectual Powers,  and  the  Investigation 

the  Great.     By  John  Barrow,  Esq. 
66,  67.    The   Lives  of  the  most 

of   Truth.     By  John    Abercrombie. 

Eminent    Painters   and    Sculptors. 

38,   39,   40.    Lives  of  Celebrated 

By  Allan  Cunningham.    2d  Series. 

Travellers.    By  James  Augustus  St. 

68,   69.   The   History  of    Arabia. 

John. 

By  Andrew  Crichton. 

41,  42.    Life  of  Frederic  the  Sec- 

70. Historical  and  Descriptive  Ac- 

ond,   King    of   Prussia,    By   Lord 

count  of  Persia.    By  James  B.  Fra- 

Dover. 

ser,  Esq. 

Valuable     Standard     WorJct 


CLASSICAL       LIBRARY. 


71 .  The  Principles  of  Physiology 
applied  to  the  Preservation  of  Health, 
and  to  the  Improvement  of  Physical 
and  Mental  Kducation.     By  Andrew 
Combe,  M.D. 

72.  Sacred  History  of  the  World. 
By  Sharon  Turner,  F.S.A.    2d  vol. 

73.  History  and  Present  Condition 
of  the  Barbary  States.     By  the  Kev. 
M.  Russell,  LL.D. 

74.  The  Natural  History  of  In- 
sects.    Vol.  2. 

75, 76.  A  Life  of  Washington.    By 
J.  K.  Paulding,  Esq. 

77.  The  Philosophy  of  Living.    By 
Caleb  Ticknor,  A.M. 

78.  The  Karth  :  its  Physical  Con- 
dition and  most   Remarkable   Phe- 
nomena.    By  W.  M.  Higgins. 

79.  A    Compendious    History    of 
Italy.    Translated  by  Nath.  Greene. 

80.  81.  The   Chinese.     By  John 
Francis  Davis,  F.R.S. 

82.  An  Historical  Account  of  the 
Circumnavigation  of  the  Globe,  &c. 

83.  Celestial    Scenery;    or,    the 


Wonders  of  the  Planetary  System 
displayed.    By  Thomas  Dick,  LL.D. 

84.  Sacred  History  of  the  World. 
By  Sharon  Turner,  F.S  A.     Vol.  3. 

85.  Amma!  Mechanism  and  Phys- 
iology.    By  John  H.  Gnscom,  M.'D. 

86.  87,  88,  89,  90,   91.   Universal 
History.     By  the    Hon.   Alexander 
Fraser  Tytler  and  Rev   E.  Nares. 

92.  93.  The  Life  and  Works  of 
Dr.  Franklin. 

94,  95.  The  Pursuit  of  Knowledge 
under  Difficulties  ;  its  Pleasures  and 
Rewards. 

96,  97.  Paley's  Natural  Theology. 
With  Notes,  &c.,  by  Henry  Lord 
Brougham,  Sir  Chailes  Bell,  and  A. 
Potter,  D.D. 

98.  Natural  History  of  Birds ;  their 
Architecture,  Habits,  &c. 

99.  The   Sidereal   Heavens,   and 
other  Subjects  connected  with  As- 
tronomy.    By 'I  homas  Dick,  LL.D. 

100.  Outlines  of  Imperfect  and  Dis- 
ordered Mental  Action.    By  Profes- 
sor L'pham. 


CLASSICAL    LIBRARY. 


With  Portraits  on  »teel. 


1,2.  Xenophon.  (Anabasis,  trans- 
lated by  Edward  Spelman,  Esq., 
Cyropaedia,  by  the  Hon.  M.  A.  Coop- 
er') 

3,  4.  The  Orations  of  Demosthe- 
nes. Translated  by  Thomas  Leland, 
D.D. 

5.  Sallust.    Translated  by  Wil- 
liam Rose,  M.A. 

6,  7.  Caesar.    Translated  by  Wil- 
liam Duncan. 

8,  9,  10.  Cicero.  The  Orations 
translated  by  Duncan,  the  Offices  by 
Cockman,  and  the  Cato  and  Laslius 
by  Melmoth. 

11,  12.  Virgil.  The  Eclogues 
translated  by  Wrangham,  the  Geor- 
gics  by  Sotheby,  and  the  ^Eneid'by 
Dryden. 

13.  ^Eschylus.    Translated  by  the 
Rev.  R.  Potter,  M.A. 

14.  Sophocles.      Translated    by 
Thomas  Francklin,  D.D. 

15, 16, 17.  Euripides.  Translated 
by  the  Rev.  K.  Potter,  M.A. 

16,    19.    Horace.     Translated  by 

23 


Philip  Francis,  D.D.  With  an  Ap- 
pendix,  containing  Translations  of 
various  Odes,  &c.,  by  Ben  Jonson, 
Cowley,  Milton,  Dryden,  &c.  And 

Phas'drus.  With  the  Appendix  of 
Gudius.  Translated  by  Christopher 
Smart,  A.M. 

20,  21.  Ovid.  Translated  by  Dry- 
den,  Pope,  Congreve,  Addison,  and 
others. 

22,  23.  Thucydides.  Translated 
by  William  Smith.  A.M. 

24.  25,  26,  27.  28.  Livy.  Transla- 
ted by  George  Baker,  A.M. 

29,30,  31.  Herodotus.  Translated 
by  the  Rev.  William  Beloe. 

32,  33.  34.  Homer.  Translated 
by  Alexander  Pope,  Esq. 

35.  Juvenal.        Translated     by 
Charles  Badham,  M.D.,  F.R.S.    And 

Persius.  Translated  by  the  Rt. 
Hon.  Sir  W.  Drummond. 

36.  Pindar.      Translated  by  the 
Rev.  C.  A.  Wheelwright.    And 

Anacreon.  Translated  by  Thom- 
as Bourne,  Esq. 


Publithed    by    Harper    <f    Brother*. 


SCHOOL       DISTRICT       LIBRARY. 


BOYS'    AND    GIRLS'    LIBRARY. 


No.  1.  Lives  of  the  Apostles  and 
Early  Martyrs  of  the  Church. 

2,  3.  The  Swiss  Family  Robin- 
son ;  or,  Adventures  of  a  Father  and 
Mother  and  Four  Sons  on  a  Desert 
Island. 

4,  13,  18.  Sunday  Evenings.     By 
the  Author  of  "the  Infant  Christian's 
First  Catechism." 

5.  The  Son  of  a  Genius.    By  Mrs. 
Borland. 

6.  Natural  History.      By  Uncle 
Philip. 

7,  8.    Indian  Traits.      By  B.   B. 
Thatcher,  Esq. 

9,  10,  11.  Tales  from  American 
History.  By  the  Author  of"  Ameri- 
can Popular  Lessons." 

12.  The  Young  Crusoe;  or,  the 
Shipwrecked  Boy.  By  Mrs.  Hof- 

14.  Perils  of  the  Sea;  being  Au- 
thentic  Narratives  of    Remarkable 
and    Affecting   Disasters   upon  the 
Deep. 

15.  Sketches  of  the  Lives  of  Dis- 


ngmings. 

tinguished  Females.    By  an  Ameri- 
can Lady. 

16.  Caroline  Westerley ;    or,  the 
Young  Traveller  from  Ohio.      By 
Mrs  Phelps  (formerly  Mrs  Lincoln). 

17.  The  Clergyman's  Orphan,  and 
other  Tales.     By  a  Clergyman. 

19.  The   Ornaments    Discovered. 
By  Mrs.  Hughs. 

20.  Evidences  of  Christianity.    By 
Uncle  Philip. 

21.  History  of  Virginia.    By  Un- 
cle Philip. 

22.  The   American  Forest.      By 
Uncle  Philip. 

23,24.  History  of  New-York.  By 
Uncle  Philip. 

25.  Tales  of  the  American  Revo- 
lution. By  B.  B.  Thatcher. 

26,27.  The  Whale- fishery  and  the 
Polar  Seas.  By  Uncle  Philip. 

28,  29.  History  of  Massachusetts. 
By  Uncle  Philip. 

30,31.  History  of  New-Hampshire. 
By  Uncle  Philip. 


SCHOOL    DISTRICT    LIBRARY. 


lUmtnted  by 


Engravinp. 


FIRST  SERIES. 


Nos.  1,  2.  A  Life  of  Washington. 
By  J.  K.  Paulding,  Esq. 

3.  The  Poor  kich  Man  and  the 
Rich   Poor  Man.     By  Miss   C.  M. 
Sedgwick. 

4,  5.   The  Swiss  Family  Robin- 
son ;  or,  Adventures  of  a  Father  and 
Mother  and  Four  Sons  on  a  Desert 
Island. 

6,  7.  The  Natural  History  of  In- 
sects. 

8.  The  Son  of  a  Genius.    By  Mrs. 
Hofland. 

9,  10,  11.  American  History.     By 
the  Author  of  "  American  Popular 
Lessons  " 

12.  American  Revolution.    By  B. 
B.  Thatcher,  Esq. 

13,  14.  The  Life  of  Napoleon  Bo- 
naparte.    By  J.  G.  Lockhart,  Esq. 

15.  The  Principles  of  Physiology 
applied  to  the  Preservation  of  Health, 
and  to  the  Improvement  of  Physical 


and  Mental  Education.    By  Andrew 
Combe,  M.D. 

16,  17.  Indian  Traits.    By  B.  B. 
Thatcher,  Esq. 

18.  Narrative  of  Discovery  and 
Adventure  in  Africa.     By  Professor 
Jameson,  and    James   Wilson   and 
Hugh  Murray,  Esqrs. 

19.  The    American    Forest.    By 
Uncle  Philip. 

20.  A  Popular  Guide  to  the  Obser- 
vation of  Nature.    By  Robert  Mudie. 

21.  Perils  of  the  Sea;  being  Au- 
thentic  Narratives  of    Remarkable 
and   Affecting    Disasters  upon    the 
Deep. 

22.  Inquiries  concerning  the  Intel- 
lectual Powers  and  the  Investigation 
of  Truth.     By  John  Abercrombie, 
M.D.,  F.R.S. 

23.  Lectures  on  General  Litera- 
ture, Poetry,  &c.    By  James  Mont- 
gomery. 

'  23 


Valuable     Standard     Works 


SCHOOL      DISTRICT      LIBRARY. 

24.    Celestial    Scenery;    or,    the 

36,  37.  The  Life  of  Oliver  Crom- 

Wonders of  the   Planetary  System 

well      By  Rev  M.  Russell,  LL.D. 

displayed.    By  Thomas  Dick,  LL.D. 

38.  On  the  Improvement  of  Society 

25.  Palestine;  or,  the  Holy  Land. 
By  Rev   M.  Russell,  LL.D. 

by  the  Diffusion  of  Knowledge.     By 
Thomas  Dick,  LL.D. 

26.  History  of  Chivalry  and  the 

39.  The  Earth  :  its  Physical  Con- 

Crusades.   By  G.  P.  R.  James,  Esq. 

dition  and  most   Remarkable   Phe- 

27. The  Life  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton. 

nomena.     By  W.  M.  Higgins. 

By  David  Brewster,  LL.D. 

40.  The  Philosophy  of  the  Moral 

28.  Live  and  Let  Live.    By  Miss 

Feelings.     By  John  Abercrombie. 

C.  M.  Sedgwick. 

4.1,  42.  Memoirs  of  Celebrated  Fe- 

29,  30.  The   Chinese.     By   John 

male  Sovereigns.    By  Mrs.  Jameson. 

Francis  Davis,  F.R  S. 

43.  History  of  Virginia.     By  Un- 

31. An  Historical  Account  of  the 

cle  Philip. 

Circumnavigation  of  the  Globe. 

44.    The   Ornaments   Discovered. 

32.  The  Life  and  Actions  of  Alex- 

By Mary  Hughs. 

ander  the  Great.     By  Rev.  J.  Wil- 

45.  Natural    History;    or,  Tools 

liams. 

and  Trades  among  Inferior  Animals. 

33,  34.  Letters  of  Euler  on  Differ- 

By Uncle  Philip. 

ent  Subjects  of  Natural  Philosophy. 

46.  47.  The  Whale-fishery  and  the 

With  Notes  and  a  Life  of  Euler,  by 

Polar  Seas.     By  Uncle  Philip. 

Sir  David  Brewster  ;  with  additional 

48.  Lives  and  Voyages  of  Early 

Notes,  by  John  Griscom,  LL.D. 

Navigators. 

35.   Memoir  of  the  Life  of  Peter 

49.  50.  History  of  New-York.    By 

the  Great.    By  John  Barrow,  Esq. 

William  Dunlap. 

SECOND    SERIES. 

Nos.  51,  52.  Life  and  W'orks  of 

70,  71,  72,  73,  74,  75,76,  77  78,  79. 

Dr.  Franklin. 

American    Biography.      Edited   by 

53,  54.  The  Farmer's  Instructer  ; 

Jared  Sparks,  Esq. 

consisting  of  Essays,  Practical  Di- 

80. The  Travels  and  Researches 

rections  and  Hints  for  the  Manage- 

of Alexander   Von   Humboldt.     By 

ment  of  the  Farm,  Garden,  &c.    By 

W.  Macgilhvray,  A.M. 

the  Hon.  Judge  Buel. 

81.  The  History  of  Greece.    By 

55,  56.  The  Pursuit  of  Knowledge 

Dr.    Goldsmith.     .Prepared  by   the  ^ 

under  Difficulties  ;  its  Pleasures  and 

Author  of  "American  Popular  Les-  L 

Rewards.     Illustrated  by   Memoirs 

sons,"  &c. 

of  Eminent  Men. 

82.  Natural  History  of  Birds. 

57.  Animal  Mechanism  and  Physi- 

83. Familiar  Illustrations  of  Nat- 

ology.    By  J.  H.  Griscom,  M.D. 
58.  The  Elephant  as  he  exists  in 

ural  Philosophy.    By  Prof.  Renwick. 
84,  85.  Selections  from  the  Spec- 

a Wild   State  and   as  he  has  been 

tator. 

made  subservient,  in  Peace  and  in 

86.  The  Elements  of  Geology.    By 

War,  to  the  Purposes  of  Man. 

Charles  A.  Lee,  A.M.,  M.D. 

59.    Vegetable    Substances    used 

87.  The  History  of  Rome.     By 

for  the  Food  of  Man. 

Dr.  Goldsmith.     Edited  by  H.  W. 

60,  61,  62,  63,  64,  65.   Universal 

Herbert,  Esq. 

History.     By   the   Hon.    Alexander 
Fraser  Tytler  and  Rev.  E.  Nares. 

88.  A  Treatise  on  Agriculture.    By 
Gen.  John  Armstrong.    With  Notes, 

66.  Illustrations  of  Mechanics.    By 

by  the  Hon.  Judge  Buel. 

Professors  Moseley  and  Kenwick. 

89.  Natural  History  of  Quadrupeds. 

67.    Narrative  of  Discovery  and 

90.  Chaptal's    Chymistry  applied 

Adventure  in   the   Polar   Seas  and 

to  Agriculture. 

Regions.     By  Professors  Leslie  and 

91.  Lives  of  the  Signers  of  the 

Jameson,  and  Hugh  Murray,  Esq. 
68.  69.  Paley's  Natural  Theology. 

Declaration  of  Independence.     By 
N.  Dwight,  Esq. 

With  Notes,  &c.,  by  Henry  Lord 

92,  93,  94,  95.   Plutarch's  Lives. 

Brougham,   Sir  Charles   Bell,  and 
Alonzo  Potter,  D.D. 

Translated  by  John  Langhorne.D.D.,  I 
and  William  Langhorne,  M.A. 

•24 


Published    by    Harper     cf    Brothers. 


SCHOOL      DISTRICT       LIBRARY. 

THIRD    SERIES. 

The  Third  Serin  of  the  School  District  Library  ii  now  in  preparation.    Among  m»ny  othf  r  Tsluabla 

works  under  contract  and  consideration  are  the  following  : 

A  History  of  the  United    States. 

The  Life  and  Correspondence  of 

By  the  Hon.  S.  Hale.    2  vols. 

Governor  John  Jay.     By  Professor 

History  of  British  America.     By 

Renwick. 

Hugh  Murray,  F.R.S.E. 

The  Life  and  Travels  of  Mungo 

History  of  Scotland.    By  Sir  Wal- 

Park. 

ter  Scott',  Bart.    2  vols. 
History   of   France.       By  E.   E. 

Parry's  Voyages  and  Journey  to- 
wards the  North  Pole.      2  vols. 

Crowe,  Ksq.    3  vols. 

Life  of  Patrick  Henry.     By  Wil- 

The  History  of  England.     By  T. 

liam  Wirt. 

Keightley.    4  vols. 

Political  Economy.      Its  objects 

The  Science  of  Mechanics  applied 

stated  and  explained,  and  its  Princi- 

to  Practical   Purposes.     By  James 

ples  familiarly  and  practically  illus- 

Renwick, LL.D. 

trated. 

History  of  the  Expedition  to  Russia 
'  undertaken  by  the  Ernperor  Napo- 

Evening Readings  in  Nature  and 
Man.     Selected    and    arranged    by 

leon.     By  Gen.  Count  Philip  de  Se- 

Alonzo  Potter,  D.D. 

gur.    2  vols. 

Outlines  of  Imperfect  and  Disor- 

History of  the  Fine  Arts.    By  B. 

dered  Mental  Action.     By  Professor 

J.  Lossing,  Esq. 

Upham. 

Selections  from  the  Works  of  Dr. 

The    Starry  Heavens  and    other 

Johnson.    2  vols. 

Objects  connected  with  Astronomy. 

Selections  from  the  Works  of  Dr. 

By  Thomas  Dick,  LL.D. 

Goldsmith. 

A  familiar  Treatise  on  the  Consti- 

Selections from  the  American  Po- 

tution  of  the  United  States. 

.   ets.     By  W.  C.  Bryant,  Esq. 

Biographies  of  Distinguished  Fe- 

Selections  from    Foreign    Poets. 

males.    2  vols. 

;   By  Fitz-Greene  Halleck.    2  vols. 

Sketches  of  American  Enterprise. 

The  Pleasures  and  Advantages  of 

2  vols. 

Science.     By  A.  Potter,  D.D. 

Selections  from  the  Writings  of 

Exemplary  and  Instructive  Biog- 

Washington.    2  vols. 

raphy.     A  new  Selection.    3  vols. 
'The    Household   Book.    By  the 

The  Useful  Arts,  popularly  treated. 
The  Wonders  of  Nature  and  Art. 

Hev.  Dr.  Potter. 

History    of  Massachusetts.     By 

Tales  from  History.    By  Agnes 

Uncle  Philip.    2  vols. 

btrickland.    2  vols. 

History  of  New-  Hampshire.    By 

j    First  Principles  of  Chemistry  fa- 
miliarly   explained.     By   Professor 

Uncle  Philip.    2  vols. 
History  of  Connecticut.    By  The- 

Renwick. 

odore  Dwight,  Esq. 

The  Life  and  Correspondence  of 

A  Valuable  and  Useful  Work  for 

Dewitt  Clinton.    By  Professor  Ren- 

Farmers  and    Gardeners.      By   the 

wick. 

Editors  of  "  The  Cultivator." 

The  Life  and  Correspondence  of 

A  Life  of  Commodore  Perry.    By 

General   Alexander  Hamilton.    By 

Lieut.  A.  Shdell  Mackenzie. 

Professor  Renwick. 

ID*  The  first  and  second  series  of  the  School  District  Library  have  been 

pronounced  highly  judicious,  and  have  been  recommended  by  the  public 
press,  the  governor  of  the  state,  the  superintendent  of  public  schools,  and 
other  distinguished  gentlemen,  as  the  best  selection  of  books  that  has  ever 

appeared,  and,  on  account  of  its  cheapness  and  great  value,  "  admirably 

adapted  to  the  purpose  for  which  it  is  designed." 

The  publishers  are  preparing  a  fourth  series,  to  consist  of  books  selected 

..  by  competent  persons,  and  approved  by  the  SUPERINTENDENT  or  COM- 

j    MON  SCHOOLS. 

The  volumes  embraced  in  the  School,  as  well  as  in  the  Family,  Classical, 

I    and  Boys'  and  Girls'  Libraries,  are  sold  either  separately  or  in  complete  sets. 

25 


aluable     Standard     Workt 


NOVELS,      ROMANCES,      ETC. 

NOVELS,    ROMANCES,     &  c. 

Vor..  I.    Castle  Rackrent.—  Essay 
on  Irish  Bulls'—  Essay  on  Self-Jus 

de  Fleury.—  Emily  de  Coulanges.— 
The  Modern  Griselda. 

ti  Mention.  —  The   Prussian  Vase.  — 

VOL.  VI.     Belinda. 

The  Good  Aunt. 

VOL.  VII.     Leonora.—  Letters  on 

VOL.  II.     Angelina.  —  The  Good 

Female  Education  —  Patronage. 

French  Governess.—  Mademoiselle 

VOL.  VIII.     Patronage.-  Dramas. 

Panache.  —  The   Knapsack.  —  Lame 
Jervas.—  The    Will.—  Out  of    Debt 

VOL.  IX.    Harrington.—  Thoughts 
on  Bores.—  Orrnond. 

out    of    Danger.  —  The    Limerick 

VOL.  X.     Helen. 

Gloves.  —  The  Lottery.  —  Rosanna. 

*»*  The  above  can  be  had  separ- 

Vol.. III.     Murad  the  Unlucky  — 

ately  or  in  sets. 

The   Manufacturers.—  Ennui.—  The 

Practical  Kducation.     12mo. 

Contrast.  —  The  Grateful  .Negro.  — 

Frank.     12mo. 

To-morrow.—  The  Dun. 

Rosamond  ;    and    other    Stories. 

VOL.  I  V.    Manoeuvring.  —  Almeria. 

12mo. 

—Vivian. 

Harry  and  Lucy.    2  vols.  12mo. 

Vol..  V.   The  Absentee.—  Madame 

The  Parent's  Assistant.    12mo. 

MRS.  SHERWOOD'S  WORKS.     15  vols.  12mo. 

Vol.  I.    Henry  Milner,  parts  I., 

rand  Boy.—  The  Orphan  Boy.—  The 

II.,  III. 

Two  Sisters.—  Julian  Percival.—  Ed- 

VOL. II.    Fairchild  Family.—  Or- 

ward  Mansfield.  —  The  Infirmary.— 

phans  of  Normandy.—  The   Latter 
VOL.  III.    Little  Henry  and  his 

Mrs.  Catharine  Crawley  —  Joan  ;  or, 
Trustworthy.—  The  Young  Forester. 
—The  Bitter  Sweet.—  Common  Er- 

Bearer.— Little  Lucy  and  her  Dhaye. 

rors 

—  Memoirs   of    Sergeant    Dale,   his 
Daughter,  and  the  Orphan  Mary.— 
Susan  Gray.  —  Lucy  Clare.  —  Hedge 

VOLS  IX.,  X.,  XL,  and  XII.    The 
Lady  of  the  Manor. 
VOL.  XIII.    The  Mail-coach.—  My 

of  Thorns  —  The  Recaptured  Negro. 

Three     I'ncles.—  The    Old    Lady's 

—  Susannah;  or,   the  Three   Guar- 
dians. —  Theophilus  and   Sophia.  — 

Complaint  —The  Hours  of  Infancy. 
—  The  Shepherd's  Fountain.  —  Econ- 

Abdallah, the  Merchant  of  Bagdad. 
VOL.  IV.    The  Indian  Pilgrim  — 

omy.—  '-Hoc    Age."  —  Old    Things 
and  New  Things.—  The  Swiss  Cot- 

The Broken  Hyacinth.—  The  Little 
Woodman  —The  Babes  in  the  Wood. 

tage.  —  Obstinacy    Punished.  —  The 
Infant's  Grave.  —  The  Father's  Eye. 

—  Clara    Stephens.  —  The    Golden 

—The   Red  Book.—  Dudley  Castle. 

Clew.—  Katharine   Seward.—  Mary 
Anne  —The  Iron  Cage.—  The  Little 

—The   Happy   Grandmother.—  The 
Blessed  Family.—  My  Godmother.  — 

Beggars. 

The   Useful    Little   Girl.—  Caroline 

VOL  V.    The  Infant's  Progress.- 
The  Flowers  of  the  Forest  —  Juliana 

Mordaunt.—  Le  Fevre  —The  Penny 
Tract.—  The    Potters'    Common  — 

Oakley.  —  Ermina.—  Emancipation. 
VOL.  VI.    The  Governess.—  The 

The    China    Manufactory.  —  Emily 
and  her  Brothers. 

Little  Momiere.—  The  Stranger  at 

VOL.  XIV.     The  Monk  of  Cimies. 

Home.—  Pere    la    Chaise  —English 

—The  Rosary;  or,  Rosee  of  Mon- 

Mary.—  My  Uncle  Timothy. 

treux.—  The   Roman    Baths.—  Saint 

VOL.  VII.    The    Nun.-  Intimate 

Hospice.—  The    Violet    Leaf.-The 

Friends  —  My  Aunt   Kate.  —  Kmme- 

Convent  of  St.  Clair. 

line  —Obedience.—  The  Gipsy  Babes. 

VOL.  XV.     The  History  of  Henry 

—The  Basket-maker  —  The  Butter- 

Milner, Part  IV.—  Sabbaths  on  the 

fly.—  A  lune.—  Procrastination.—  The 

Continent.—  The  Idler. 

Mourning  Queen. 

*<  *  The  above  can  be  had  in  sets 

VOL.  VIII.  Victoria.—  Arzoomund. 

or  in  separate  volumes. 

—The  Birthday  Present.—  The  Er- 

Roxobel.    3  vols.  18mo. 

26 


ANTHON  S    SERIES    OP   CLASSICAL    WORKS. 


Commendatory  Letters—  continued. 

From  the  Rev.  Dr.  MII.I.KDOLER, 

of  the  learned  editor  and  the  neat  and 

President  of  Rutger's  College,  at 
New-  Brunswick,  N.  J. 

handsome  appearance  of  the  volumes  be 
justly  appreciated,  your  work  cannot  fail 

....  Notwithstanding  the  objections 
of  some  eminent  men  to  the  study  of  the 
Greek  and  Roman   Classics,  it  is  now 

to  receive  a  liberal  patronage. 
Your  obedient  servant, 
JAMES  CARNAHAN. 

almost  generally  conceded  that  they  form 



an  important  if  not  necessary  part  of  a 

From  the  Rev.  Dr.  BALDWIN,  Presi- 

liberal education. 
A  respectable  acquaintance  with  those 
languages,  in  which  the  greatest  masters 
in  belles  lettres  and  science  have  written, 
cannot  be  dispensed  with  by  professional 
men.      We  do  not  indeed  see,  without  re- 
sorting  to  these   ancient  and  admired 
fountains  of  taste  and  learning,  how  el- 
egant literature  can  be  cultivated  to  ad- 
vantage, or  how  even  a  competent  knowl- 
edge of  our  own  tongue  can  be  acquired. 
Whoever,   therefore,   has  so  mastered 
these  works  that  he  can  teach  their  gram- 
matical structure  not  only,  but  by  accu- 
rate reference  to  ancient  history,  geogra- 
phy, and  philology,  can  trace  their  nice 
and  varied  shades  of  meaning,  unfold 
i   their  beauty,  and  inspire  the  youthful 

dent  of  Wahash  College,  at  Craw- 
fordsville,  Indiana. 
....  I  have  read  Anthon's  Sallust  and 
his   Caesar's  Commentaries  with  much 
satisfaction.      We  have  adopted  the  for- 
mer in  the  preparatory  course  connected 
with  our  college  ;  and  propose  to  use  his 
editions  of  Caesar  and  of  Tully's  Ora- 
tions, in  preference  to  all  others.     My 
opinion  of  the  merits  of  Professor  An- 
thon, as  a  Latin  scholar  and  editor  of  the 
Latin  Classics,  and  particularly  at  a 
critical  commentator,  is  very  high.     I 
most  cheerfully  commend    his   literary 
labours   to   the  patronage  of  classical 
teachers  as  second  to  none  in  his  depart- 
ment, with  which  I  am  acquainted, 
v           •         i 

y  ours  sincerely, 

well  of  the  Republic  of  Letter's. 

ELIHU  W.  BALDWIN. 

Professor  Anthon,  in  his  recent  edi- 

— — 

tions  of  the  Classics,  has,  in  the  judg- 

From the  University  of  St.  Louis- 

ment  of  the  undersigned,  very  ably  ac- 

Missouri. 

complished  this  difficult  service. 
With  these  works  in  their  hands,  our 
youth  teill  not  be  left  to  waste  time  and 
mental  energy  in  unnecessary  and  dis- 
couraging   investigations,    but   will   be 
lighted  on  their  way,  and  excited  to  ex- 
ertion. 
The  typographical  part  is  correctly 
and  elegantly  executed. 
With  my  best  wishes  that  both  editor 
and  publishers  may  be  amply  remunera- 
ted by  the  rapid  sale  of  these  works,  and 
their   extensive  diffusion    through    the 
academies  and  colleges  of  our  country, 

We  have  examined  them  part- 
ly ourselves,  and  submitted  them  for 
farther  examination    to  persons  fully 
competent  to  pronounce  on  their  merit. 
We  feel  happy  in  stating,  that  there  has 
been  but  one  opinion  on  the  subject,  viz., 
that  the  highest  encomiums  are  due  to 
Professor  Anthon  as  a  scholar  and  a 
friend  to  education,  and  that  the  typo- 
graphical execution  is  not  inferior  to 
that  of  the  best  schoolbooks  published  in 
England  and  in  France  
Your  obedient  servants, 
J.  A.  ELET, 

2  remain,  gentlemen, 
Yours  very  respectfully, 

.Rector  of  St.  Louis  University. 
J.  B.  ESNING, 

PHILIP  MILLEDOLKR. 

Profes.  Ling. 

From  the  Rev.  JAMES  CARNAHAN, 

From  the  Rev.  RICHARD  H  WALL, 

D.D.,  President  of  the  College  of 

D.D.,  Principal  of  the  Preparatory 

New-Jersey,  at  Princeton,  N.  J. 

School  of  Trinity  College,  Dublin, 

Having  examined  in  a  cursory  man- 

and Minister  of  the  Chapel  Royal. 

ner  your  series  of  Anthon's  Classical 

Doctor  Anthon  is  an  admira- 

authors, J  add,  with  pleasure,  the  testi- 

ble  commentator.      His  works  have  a 

mony  of  my  approbation  to  the  numer- 

great sale  here.     And  I  shall  be  anxious 

ous  recommendations  -given  by  others. 

to  see  anything  in  the  Classical  way 

Professor  Anthon's  character  as  a  Clas- 

which comes  from  his  pen.      We  have 

sical  scholar  is  a  sufficient  pledge  for  the 
accuracy  of  the  edition.     If  the  ability 

his  Cicero,  Sallust,  and  Horace  in  gen- 
eral circulation  in  our  schools  

ANTHON  S    SERIES   OF   CLASSICAL   WORKS. 


Letters  of  Recommendation  —  continued. 

From  the  Rev.  E.  NOTT,  D.D.,  Pres- 

tended.     The  editions  by  Dr.  Anthon 

ident  of  Union  College  at  Sche- 

seem  to  me  to  supply,  in  a  very  judicious 

nectady,  N.  Y. 

manner,  what  is  wanting  to  the  student, 

The  Jurnishing  of  our  schools  and 
colleges  with  accurate  and  uniform  edi- 
tions of  the  Classical  authors  in  use, 

and  cannot  fail,  I  should  think,  to  aid  in 
restoring  Classical  studies  frc,m  their 
unhappily  languishing  condition. 

accompanied  by  a  useful  body  of  com- 
mentary, maps,  illluptrations,  cf-c.,  is  an 

Tno.  R.  INOALLS. 

undertaking  worthy  alike  of  commenda- 



tion  and  of  patronage.      The  competency 
of  Professor  Anthon  for  the  editorial  su- 
pervision assigned  him,  is  well  known  to 

From  C.  L.  DUBUISSON,  A.M.,  Presi- 
dent of  Jefferson  College  at  Wash- 
ington, Miss. 

me.      The  whole  design  meets  my  entire 
approbation,  a?id  you  are  quite  at  liberty 
to  make  use  of  my  name  in  the  further- 

/ have  examined  with  some  care  the 
first  five  volumes  of  Anthon'  s  Series  of 
Classical  Works.     They  are  such  as  I 

ance  of  its  execution. 
Very  respectfully, 

should  expect  from  the  distinguished  ed- 
itor.     The  "Horace"  and  "  Sallust" 

ELIPHALET  NOTT. 

of  this  gentleman  have  long  been  known 

From  the  Rev.  F.  WAYT.AND,  D.D., 

to  me  as  the  very  best  books  to  be  placed 
in  the  hands  of  a  student.     As  a  com- 

President of  Brown  University  at 

mentator,  Professor  Anthon  has,  in  my 

Providence,  R.  I. 

estimation,  no  equal.     His  works  hare 

1  have  not  been  able,  owing  to  the  pres- 
sure of  my  engagements,  to  examine  the 
above  works  with  any  degree  of  accuracy. 
I  however  beg  leave  to  thank  you  for  the 
volumes,  and  cheerfully  bear  testimony 
to  the  distinguished  scholarship  of  their 
editor.      No   classical  scholar  of  our 
country  enjoys  a  higher  reputation,  and 
I  know  of  no  one  in  whose  labours  more 
decided  confidence  may  be  reposed. 

excited  a  great  and  beneficial  influence 
in  the  cause  of  Classical  learning,  and 
the  present  undertaking  will  infinitely 
extend  the  sphere  of  that  influence.    No 
one  so  well  as  a  teacher  can  appreciate 
the  value  of  uniform  editions  of  the  text- 
books to  be  used  by  his  classes.     The 
undertaking  of  publishing  a  complete 
series  of  all  those  standard  works  which 
students  must  read  is  a  noble  one,  and 
I  sincerely  hope  it  will  be  completed. 

Yours  truly, 
F.  WAYLAND. 

With  such  a  series  as  the  present  prom- 
ises to  be,  there  will  be  nothing  left  to 



desire.     It  is  be  hoped  that  editor  and 

From  the  Rev.  JOHN  P.  DOKBIN, 

publishers  will  meet  with  such  encourage- 

A.M., President  of  Dickinson  Col- 

ment as  their  truly  valuable  undertaking 

lege  at  Carlisle,  Penn. 

deserves. 

Your  obedient  servant, 

For  some  months  past  my  attention 

B    IS 

has  been  directed  to  the  series  of  Classi- 

cal works  now  in  the  course  of  publication 
from  your  press,  edited  by  Professor  An- 
thon.    I  can  with  confidence  recommend 

From  the  Rev.  JOHN  LTJDLOW,  Pres- 
ident of  the  University  of  Pennsyl- 

them as  the  best  editions  of  the  several 

vania  at  Philadelphia. 

works  which  have  appeared  in  our  coun- 
try, perhaps  in  any  country.      The  mat- 

  The  object  is  worthy  your  en- 
terprising spirit,  and  you  have  been  sin- 

ter is  select,  and  the  notes  are  copious 
and  clear  

gularly  fortunate  in  securing  the  services 
of  Professor  Anthon  to  direct  it  to  its 

RtspectfuHy, 
J.  P.  DURBIN. 

completion.      The  volumes  which  you 
have  kindly  sent  me  fully  sustain  the 

reputation  of  that  distinguished  scholar, 

From  THOMAS   R.  INGALLS,  Esq., 
President  of  Jefferson  College  at 
St.  James,  Louisiana. 

and  afford  a  sure  pledge  of  what  may  be 
expected  in  those  which  are  to  follow. 
Most  heartily  do  I  recommend  your  un- 
dertaking, and  sincerely  hope  it  will  meet 

I  have  examined  them  with  atten- 

with the  encouragement  which  it  richly 

tion,  and  have  no  hesitation  in  saying 

deserves. 

that  I  prefer  them  to  any  books  1  have 
seen  for  the  schools  for  which  they  are  in- 

With great  respect,  yours,  Jj-c., 
JOHN  LODLOW. 

UNIVERSITY  of 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIAIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
«CT>  tfctfRfck  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  sta>ed  below. 


tut- 


30WO 

jtti-o 

JUL0619JK 


ftSfM"" 


ormL9 — 15m-10,'48(B1039)444 


LD-fJH!  " 

JL   OCT1 41991 
MAY  13  m 


.744 


1301   1100 


Love  f  s 


PS 
1744 
G416  1 


